There was a year I played a witch for Halloween.
Under a black pointed hat
was my little face smeared with green.
But the weather decided not to agree with trick-or-treaters
and the temperature fell,
threatening to freeze fingers and noses with cold.
So, my mother insisted I wear my heavy winter jacket.
Of course, I resisted.
Who wears a jacket over their costume?
Who would see my witchy dress?
There were limited choices.
I couldn’t stay home and miss out on all that candy.
So, my jacket,
puffy and bright with orange and white stripes,
went under the dress,
the black fabric stretching to its limits.
And I walked the neighborhood collecting treats
as a grumbling plump witch.
Tinamarie Cox lives in Northern Arizona with her husband and two children. She writes to escape her mind and explore the universe. Tinamarie typically writes poetry and her work can be found in several publications.