I Miss You, Great Pumpkin

Steam on the kitchen window
and clouds in my oatmeal form
wispy-haired ghosts of autumn past,

making me weepy for those visits
to Pumpkinland with sweatered toddlers
in tow, in search of the perfect candidate
for a Jack-o-lantern or Thanksgiving pie
or even a carriage for Cinderella.

These days the house is no longer haunted.
Oatmeal is not the breakfast of heroes,
and the pumpkin pudding lacks nothing
except the gouges from dimpled fingers
too quick for mom to lick.

I carve a jagged smile in the steam on the window.
It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.

I miss you.