the last pumpkin on the porch
has begun to rot.
its orange skin has softened,
its crooked smile has caved in,
and the candle inside
has not burned for days.
halloween is over.
the children have gone home,
the candy bowls are empty,
and someone has already taken down
the little ghosts from the front window.
but the pumpkin remains.
rainwater gathers in its mouth.
the wind pushes dead leaves
against its broken teeth.
its face grows stranger
with every passing night.
i wonder if this is
what happens to everything
we once found beautiful.
whether time is simply
the slow business
of changing our minds.
one week,
we carve a face into something,
place a candle inside,
and invite the whole neighbourhood
to come and look.
the next,
we leave it outside
to collapse by itself.
nobody thinks to say goodbye
to a pumpkin.
still, i pass the porch
every evening
and look at its little face.
the sky is turning colder.
the trees are losing their colour.
the first winter breeze
has begun to move
through the empty garden.
tomorrow, someone will throw it away.
tonight,
it is still orange.
tonight,
it is still here.
