She creeps, announced, into your room,
her cold hand pressing against your stomach.
You shiver at her metallic fingertips,
and your fuzzy socks tuck back into the bed.
She brings you a basket of corn,
the last haul, dangling from her arm.
Dirt under her nails, she smells of earth,
the cutting scent of decay and growth.
The night crackles as darkness falls,
dusk giving way to crisp air and burning leaves.
In the distance, the smell of Halloween nights
breaks into candy bits and foreign homes.
Meanwhile, she smirks as she throws
a gray blanket across the sky
and pricks the trees at random
until their crimson bleeds over the green.
–30–
Edit of the first version.
