October 31st Poem by Hans Ostrom

The high-school girl had been trick-
or-treating, filling sharp Pacific Northwest
air with operatically lemony perfume.
Now, at our doorstep, she stood, bleeding.

"I was happy, " she said, "and skipping when
I fell." We invited her in, explained how
hydrogen peroxide wouldn't sting her
cut hand. Her mother, costumed as

a classic witch, came to our doorstep.
"Did my daughter just come in your house? "
she asked. "Yes, " we said. "Please come in."
"No, " she said. "One stranger in your house

is enough." The bandaged daughter
joined her mother. "Happy, " we called
to them as they walked away on
concrete into shadows, "Halloween."