By Catherine McGuire
Full moon, perfect mesh of cycles
lighting the tall gingerbread townhouses,
the weedy unfamiliar yards.
I was in a new town, with eager friends,
at the age when begging in costume
was a bit stale, so the strange streets
were spookier, more threatening, more fun.
Firs and church spires scratched at clouds
tattered and tossed, racing
as if fiend-chased. And the moon,
and the keening wind.
It was a breathless trek in the dark;
dead leaves flailing our ankles,
up to warm-lit houses with smiling moms,
or teens who wore their own, cooler costumes –
Marilyn Monroe, zootsuiter, vampire – but didn’t
go treating.
We had no mothers trailing – another thrill!
So the echoes of footsteps behind us
could mean anything.
Odd, how this faux fear was welcome,
even though we knew the real ones still lurked,
biding their time.
About the Author:
Catherine McGuire is a writer/artist with a deep concern for our planet’s future, with five decades of published poetry, six poetry chapbooks, a full-length poetry book, Elegy for the 21st Century, a SF novel, Lifeline and book of short stories, The Dream Hunt and Other Tales. Find her at www.cathymcguire.com