No Halloween

Last year there was a knock.

Three little girls from over the road

had climbed our front steps.

Two were dressed witchy,

the littlest one was a fairy

with gauzy wings. 'Oh come and look!'

I said to my love in his armchair.

Both of us, in the narrow doorway,

bent forward to smile and admire.

Luckily I found some jellybeans to give

and had enough left, an hour later,

when a stout little boy arrived alone 

looking brave and hopeful

in his cardboard wizard's hat

and pillowcase cape.

This year I was well prepared

with a whole bowl of mixed lollies.

I thought they could each take a handful

like a sort of lucky dip. 'I'll definitely

get visitors tonight,' I told my friends. But no. 

It's nearly ten. The street is very quiet. 

Are they — or their parents — 

being sensitive, choosing not to disturb 

newly widowed me alone at the top of my steps?

I remember his face last year

tender with delight, beaming

at the young ones and their costumes.

He was hunched, and later we didn't

celebrate Beltane traditionally

(our real Sabbat here on this date)

because his back was hurting.

I wrote a poem instead — as I do tonight.

I have no Beltane fire, but I'll light 

a candle for love, which will not die.

Submitted for dVerse OpenLinkNight #68