Was it the unapologetic magic
of broomstick flight?
Or the seductive sheer
of a dark cape
defying the wind's
concern?

I was too shocked
to be scared
the first time I met you
in my living room.

With skin as emerald as a city,
I thought it very
queer
that bad witches
are supposed to be ugly.

As October neared,
my father encouraged me
to be someone else
for my very first
Halloween.

I didn't realize boys
were not supposed
to dye their skin
with diluted food
coloring,

or gallop door to door
with a plastic broom
protruding between
skinny thighs.

Dad's warning went unheeded.

I didn't understand
why the old ladies
kept calling me a pretty girl
when filling my bag
with old lady
candy.

Before I could eat it
Mom insisted on capturing
for the photo album

the innocent
giddiness
of my own
wicked beauty.