The witches are stirring the pot. Stirring, stirring.
Our screen door blew off, screaming and kicking, dangling by a chain.
The dog escaped like Houdini from a hidden hole in the backyard fence.
5 candy bars have disappeared from the trick-or-treaters basket.
We ran out of milk in the middle of making pancakes.
Friends are coming tonight and I swear a tornado hit the kitchen and dining room.
My 15-year-old wants a nose ring.
I feel like Dorothy, trapped inside the witch’s crystal ball. Life swirls around me. is it Kansas or Oz? Are there ghosts in the cupboards? Zombies on the living room couch?
We are the House of the Full-Size Bars. Swarms of children wearing neon glow necklaces and dressed like Olaf or Donald Trump will storm the front steps. Adolescents in black hoodies will push pillowcases at me and grunt. Pumpkin beer will flow down our street behind parents and crazy uncles let loose for the night. No one will notice the screen door has flown the coop. No one will recognize the hag at the door dressed in mom jeans.
The witches are stirring the pot and I can’t decide – drink from the cauldron or not? Roll the crystal ball off the table and watch it shatter? Run away with a warlock and get a tattoo? Clip the single blood red rose left clinging to its thorny branch and clamp it between my teeth? Go all day without a shower?
Loosen the hinges of your soul tonight, even just a little. Watch the corners of the room for creeping shadows and thorny dustballs. Blacken a tooth, wear a gypsy shawl, turn your underwear inside out, juggle pumpkins and bananas and a thorny rose. Ride on the back of your Swifter and scatter candy corn across the moon.
It’s Halloween. Do you want to howl with me?