How sweet it is
by Marge Piercy
On Halloween I went diligently house
to house, not just in our neighborhood
but as far as my short legs would carry
me until the porchlights winked out
and the sidewalks emptied of kids.
Maybe I’d nibble a piece or two
and always some housewife gave
out apples, but I carried almost all
home, my bag heavy by then.
Mother spilled it out and loaded
it into the candy drawer, from which
it would be doled out to me all year.
We had no money to waste on candy
or treats. Mother’s sweet tooth
was satisfied with cookies, cakes
pies she baked. When I began to earn
I bought myself candy bars at the drug
store and hid them away like sins.
My dear can’t understand why I love
to be given chocolates. Candy
he takes for granted, prefers salty
treats like chips, pretzels. Why do
women make a fuss about chocolate?
he asks. That I can buy pleasure
made it worthwhile to grow up, I say.
Copyright © 2016 by Marge Piercy.