Here is a Halloween poem I wrote a number of years ago.
Each
Halloween
colossal oaks
lurk along streets, parks, hollows.
Stripped of
their yellow, brown, and red veneer,
they shiver
ever
so
silently
in the October twilight.
They seethe
among shadows,
their twisted trunks grinning.
The
squirrels
usually scurrying and hoarding acorns
have sought the safety of the pines.
The sparrows
too
have fled to the elms and maples.
A young boy -
on a dare -
takes the short cut
through the darkest hollow.
He hears the
branches shiver
in the wind while he wipes
the sweat from behind
his mask.
He suddenly
realizes
it has been an Indian summer
and there has been no breeze.
Each
Halloween
these colossal oaks -
silenced since early settlers
hacked and sawed
them into submission -
twitch in anticipation
their thick roots
reach out to trip
their skeletal branches
anxious to snatch
a solitary
trick or treater.
The boy
shifts
ever
so
slightly
to the far edge of the path
and clutches his bag of candy tight
just in case.
But all is silent.
The movement must have been a trick of the
twilight.
There is a
tug
and he turns to see a slender branch
caught on the bottom of his bag.
It tugs
again,
almost
eager
and the bag splits
and his candy spills
onto the path.
Then the boy
stumbles on a thick root
that had not been there before.
He slips
into the tall grass
beneath the trees.
He hears the
branches shaking
as if a storm is brewing.
It must be
his friends playing a trick.
Then each
ankle is snatched,
each wrist encircled.
Dried leaves
and foul bark
fill his gaping mouth.
Dust and
splinters
clutter his disbelieving eyes.
The branches
tug
more eager than ever
and the boy splits
and he is spilled
into the trees.
Now a storm
is brewing
the oaks creak and moan
as their bases bend and
their branches snatch.
This is no
trick at all.
The trees have their treat.
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