How monstrous we are
the costumes are intended to mask.
They make pretend
the real blood on our fangs.
We maraud our neighbors with fright
for the sake of sweet things.
Our costumes are too small to cloak
the body of our selfishness.
The poor, the refugee, the war victim
do not find them so cute.
In the dark we return home
to the warm porch light,
truly demonic,
disguised as little devils,
and our parent, who knows,
loves us fiercely.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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