Horror-ween, a poem by Shelly Blankman at Spillwords.com
Rampant Rook



written by: Shelly Blankman


The horrors of Halloween don’t always come
in the form of haunted houses, where people
lurk in shadows to shock all who dare to enter…

or in movies where monsters’ mouths drip blood.
And demonic spirits haunt villages, leaving people
screeching at the unknown, laughing at the relief.

Sometimes the horrors come in the form of a little girl
curled into a ball outside her nursery school, her clown
costume crushed against a rusted fence, jamming

her trembling fingers into her ears to mute the screeching
and squealing of pint-sized pirates and princesses, dragons
and Draculas, chasing each other around the playground,

mud from their shoes splashing her with shredded leaves
of red and gold, coating her costume like confetti. She has
never understood the fun of Halloween. Ghost stories,

moms and dads who loved scaring kids and their kids
who loved it. And a mom who spent so much time creating
a costume to be worn for only one awful day. Even then,

she knew her mother had done so with love and pride.
Her tears would have to be as invisible as she felt
the day she curled against that rusted fence, waiting

desperately for school to end, leaving
behind her the horrors of Halloween.

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