Photo by Neven Krcmarek on Unsplash
Hallow’s Etiquette
There is just nothing
remarkable about a
Hallow’s witching hour,
where absence of light and sound
pile upon one another
until the deprived
senses conjure demons, ghosts,
and apparitions of distress
manifested in the failures
of our memories, or
their perfectly successful manner
of projecting memories
of our failures back upon us
like a house of haunted mirrors.
That ghoul is not a ghoul;
it is an eye-floater
casting a shadow upon
your retina
that became entangled
with a stray set of neurons
where an unresolved
disagreement with
your long-dead beloved
continues to take up
residence; our evolved
pattern-recognition
makes us see their sunken cheeks
and disapproving glare, and
nothing more than that.
At the very least,
that is what I tell myself
to keep my heart from racing
and my unspoken words
from spilling into this dense,
uncaring,
unremarkable space
at this ungodly hour,
where no one replies
to my wailing demands for reason,
and for good reason,
as no one is here
to hear them.
But in the extremely
unlikely event
that I’m wrong about this,
all of these reasonable
observations,
which I’m mostly certain
is extremely improbable,
if they truly exist
between our realms,
my first thought would be
probably
that demons, ghosts, ghouls,
and all the like,
in addition to being
needlessly frightening,
in all these years of
ignoring my queries
they’re also extremely rude.
***
Inspired by All Hallow’s Eve and Poets United: Midweek Motif ~ A Million Years Howl When Voices Whisper Among The Trees, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.
Also shared at dVerse OLN: Casting a Spell, hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg.
