Halloween

by Joyce Nancy

It is Halloween morning
and so far
I have only seen
one costume.
 
A mermaid walked
feet under fin
into a bank,
her seashell bikini top
tied modestly
over a beige turtleneck.
 
I traverse the fog
between
October and November,
shifting in the turn
of a calendar page.
 
If I were
a sea creature
with both gills
and lungs
I would pretend
to drown myself
every autumn
so you could finally
forget me.
 
Winter would build
ice over the ocean,
protective architecture
for the fish
thriving underneath.
 
And when the year
circled back around
I would drift
to sunny shore
shed my scales
and meet you again
for the first time
in the bright blue warmth.