All Hallows’ Eve
By Joan Mazza
Nov 15, 2025
Nov 15, 2025
They say tonight the veil between the worlds
is thin, as if those who passed before us
have moved on to another place, another kind
of living where we will see them again.
As over a wall, but light as gauze now.
This night we can talk to them if we go out
to shout into a flaming fire pit, filled with
twigs and deadfall, with the spirits of lost loves
now found. What does it take to leap
into a belief that would defy all we know
shows division between the living and the dead?
In flesh and breath and memory, would the dead
speak on only this night chosen by ancient humans?
Yet how appealing is this notion of a plane
where life goes on, or comes back, rewards
our efforts, forgives intended cruelties,
blunders, ignorance. There, we receive
the kiss that leads to climax. All cheaters
come to us to beg on their knees for absolution.
The moon scuds between clouds. In the cemetery,
we walk, one candle held out against unknown
dark joys. The bones beneath our feet
lie still for those who don’t believe. We speak
all we meant to say into that endless quiet void.
is thin, as if those who passed before us
have moved on to another place, another kind
of living where we will see them again.
As over a wall, but light as gauze now.
This night we can talk to them if we go out
to shout into a flaming fire pit, filled with
twigs and deadfall, with the spirits of lost loves
now found. What does it take to leap
into a belief that would defy all we know
shows division between the living and the dead?
In flesh and breath and memory, would the dead
speak on only this night chosen by ancient humans?
Yet how appealing is this notion of a plane
where life goes on, or comes back, rewards
our efforts, forgives intended cruelties,
blunders, ignorance. There, we receive
the kiss that leads to climax. All cheaters
come to us to beg on their knees for absolution.
The moon scuds between clouds. In the cemetery,
we walk, one candle held out against unknown
dark joys. The bones beneath our feet
lie still for those who don’t believe. We speak
all we meant to say into that endless quiet void.
Joan Mazza has worked as a microbiologist and psychotherapist, and taught workshops on understanding dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam), and her poetry has appeared in The Comstock Review, Italian Americana, Atlanta Review, Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore, Slant, and The Nation. She lives in rural central Virginia.