Hallowed Puds
written by: G. L. Walters
An All Hallows’ Eve moon
rises over the black oak,
coating all
a chalky hue.
Switchgrass and cyclamen,
obscure the fence,
hiding moves of skunks
and restive leaves,
flecked in
lights of hissing cars.
The window’s muntins
frame dark ragged woods
the moon can’t reach.
A picket is missing
near the old woman’s gate.
Gone now a year,
though she grouses
as if it vanished
yesterday.
Sometimes
she peers into my window.
But on this side.
Inside.
In the glass.
The outside scene
dissolves by the light
of the oven hood.
Reflecting
a tile splashboard,
and a bowl
of pudding.
Uncovered, untouched,
wobbly confection,
pierced by a silver spoon..
Concentric circles score
the chocolate,
curving to a central
dollop curled
upon itself.
The bowl waits:
heavy with milk and cocoa.
Perhaps now.
Now?
Others must be eating
puddings
under this moon.
- Hallowed Puds - October 21, 2025
