On Halloween she will fade back
into a town that has forgotten her
She will glide down the streets,
her feet never quite touching the ground

She’ll wear a mask
though no one remembers who she is
It will be tied with precision
because she wouldn’t bare for it to slip

The children will roam around her,
cackling souls that shriek in the night
Wind will play with her hair
while the leaves swirl at her feet

She’ll knock on one familiar door,
the one that’s cracked in the corner,
and step back onto the second porch step
A respectable distance;
polite yet informal

The woman who will answer the door
should look older
like the sun has sunken into her face
and slowly dimmed away
But her eyes,
just like the girl’s,
will be the exact shade of autumn

So the girl will stare at the woman
and let her mask hide her expression
Slowly she’ll hold her cupped hands out,
because she won’t clutch a pillowcase
and say three words

“Trick or treat?”