My sister discreetly and frantically splashes orange
paint on my nails, per my request.
“I’m a pumpkin!” I jubilantly explain to Father,
whose eyes want to rip off my drying war paint.
“It’s just for Halloween,”
My sister reassures him.
It is the first Halloween I remember;
Trick-or-treating only begins my desire to dress up.
My kindergarten teacher asks,
"Do you approve of your son's tutu?"
As if the pink frills would restrict me
From today's Hokey Pokey
And could lead to nothing
But degenerate behavior.
"It's just for theatre,"
I dismiss Father's suspicion
As we buy the cheapest oil base palette
From Ulta, next to the nail shop
He used to work.
I sneak the tiniest bit of concealer onto the side of
my nose before I go to school,
I crank down the volume of the man on TV in a
dress,
I slam the lip gloss into my navy blue bag in the
bathroom as soon as I hear Father's car in the drive,
I kick Mother's heels back in her closet.
I choose makeup in every next Halloween costume.
I am a mime.
I am Captain Hook.
I am a vampire.
Tonight, black lines my eyes,
And I am a man, just the same.
But it's not just for Halloween.
It's just for me.