Revelation

We carve pumpkins in the fading twilight,
the teasing glint of small sharp knives
reflecting your glances.

Orange pulp slides from your hands
in viscous heaps as you dig out seeds,
viciously coring out souls.

Eyes, a smiling mouth. Teeth.
From inside out the emptiness claws
and slowly takes the shape of a grotesque face
but it is only a mask: don't be afraid.

Costumes glow in the dark, speakers
talking in tongues from behind muted lips. Everyone gasps
when the lanterns are lit and suddenly
we can see our face.