My grandmother wore a white sheet on Halloween.
Her black oxford stout-heeled shoes poked out from under the hem.
She walked with her familiar rock from side to side.
Her pale blue eyes glinted through the eye holes.
She was not carrying sweet candy;
She carried a loaf of rye bread.
The aroma of weak milky tea surrounded her.
When I ran to her to clasp her in my arms,
She was gone.
So I went home,
And every child, “Trick or Treat!”, got a slice of rye toast
And a hot cup full of tea.