more old things i can no longer reproduce

halloween

i remember holding hands and
hating it. my mother would
point to the next house, and my older
sister would slide the van door, and we would dart out
like some vast battalion, shedding our shield
hand at the helm of our swords, sometimes
literally, and we had already conquered our greatest
fears, the gauntlet had been vanquished, before our toes
bent the blades of evening dew, and our arms wide open
treasure bestowed upon the valiant, the courageous, the socially adept, and death
defying. and we were good, she would say
to her friends
later on the phone, opposed to the
advertised mischief. and we would pour out all our candy
on the table, she made us, and split it seven ways. even though it
always came out the same way it began, because
who holds prejudice towards seven kids in
homemade costumes and family dollar facepaint? and we'd count it afterwards,
and wonder, why was this
only
once a year, we
would murmur
through chocolate teeth or double
bubble bubbles, candy
corn fangs, caramel
smacks, stuck to the empty
caps, and the independent spaces
wisdom and age had yet to fill. it would never tire, we
decided those nights. candy for a king, candy for a queen. anyone could
live forever, like this. what
Gods
allowed only once
a year
for gluttony, should we
not enjoy everyday, bathe and baske
in
saccharine
glory. did you know
if you cook sugar for
long enough, it turns
gold? we'd sit
on the back porch, the moon was
always nearly full, and discuss
our trite superstitions, and
future predictions, i can't
recall now, and make fun of
each other, in that
circumventing sibling
fashion, that never failed, and never
tarnished
our hidden joys
of our household
company. and we'd be okay, we'd do well, if just
for a couple
of days. before it was back
to drawing
turkeys, and homework
and awaiting
the next
holiday
break. i remember once there were
so many
of us
walking up on to this tiny, concrete
front porch one
halloween, and my sister
julie was on the far left
side, she was one of the first to step up, and after the last
of us
squeezed in for a treat, i can't remember who now, she fell off
the side
into a bush, and we all laughed, but
she cried
a little, and i felt bad, and
so did the lady
who's house we were at
so she handed
julie another
handful and a half
of candy, and said it was the
last
she had, blew us
a kiss, and at the end
of the night
after we had
split
our bags
we each gave
julie back a bit of whatever she
wished to have. a candy
coated
apology, we knew, but
we were happy;
all of us.
and afterwards we
went to the back porch; because
when we were young
the falls
were warmer.

and i do
miss
being young.