Transformation

Transformation.

I remember when I was a frog,
How could I forget my big bulging eyes,
Long red fly-catching tongue
Turned out in an elegant green suit
With a spotless, white front.
Hopping from door to door
On black swim fins.

Through some incantation,
Almost year and a day later,
Poetic as a Celtic folk tale,
I was magicked into a princess.
Clad in gorgeous gold silk
And crown, of course.
Walking regally through the village.

Each year,
Amid a haunting of ghosts, warriors
Even a Superman or two.
I would make the progress,
Showing off some transfomation or other.

Once or twice, it snowed.
Always bare branches creaked overhead
Like bones.
I don't ever remember clear twilight or star lit sky
And it got dark earlier
In our princess/ghost/frog days,

As we went from door to door.
We knew everyone along the way,
As they had known us,
Forever.
But they pretended
to be surprised,
And gratifyingly
Impressed.

Mrs. Stuart made popcorn balls
Mrs Hatch dipped tooth cracking candied apples,
And the Lockes, Farrs,
Hartigans, Hardys, and Davises
And even old,
Scary Mr Hare,
Dropped candy into our bags
And pennies into UNICEF boxes.

Our high voices called to one another
In child greed
At the Root Beer Barrels,
Milky Ways,
Grasshoppers
and
Red Hots,

Anxiety came only
From poorly placed eye holes, 
Or
The smothered adult laughter
at our early attempts
To become something
Other than we were.