I choke on the taste of my first Halloween
Hershey bar thick in my mouth and candy corn
caught on teeth with Milky Way and snickers
from the old folks who don’t know
this country kid behind her cut out mask
as she leans against a fence
to check her loot before she crosses tracks
leads sister, my sister the ghost
who falls into puddles and complains
her glasses are steamed beneath the sheet
and candy isn’t worth it if you’re blind
who doesn’t listen when I point out
the loom of Old Jack Weaver’s barn
where the hex remains from Dad Germain
who resurrects on Hallows Eve
to taunt those who knock
and whose knees quake in retreat
to Widow Murphy’s porch
where creak of swing gives way
to crack of door and mummified popcorn ball
and I have to drag Kate off the porch
because she says she can’t see the steps
but she moves fast enough when the Dutton
boy dressed like Captain Kidd
lobs an egg into her sheets