I don't want the dark

Then:

Free Church of Scotland Mission House.

No porch light. No lantern. No knocking.

It was forbidden, and I was told why.

Tracts out through the door, torn up,

flattened under tyres. Every year, the trick was ours.

Now:

A parent. Still a Christian.

"Just a bit of fun", they say. 

I'm autistic. The doorbell is a fist against my ribs.

Masks with no eyes. Laughter on my skin.

The whole street, too loud, too cold to bear.

My anxiety doesn't do strangers.

Children too hyped, too loud with begged-for sugar.

I don't want the dark. Christ keeps me in the light.

And for the ones who lost someone:

Some sit in pubs with plastic bats on the ceiling,

skulls on the bar, a wake dressed as a party.

I see you. Grief doesn't get a season off.

The one good thing:

A teacher's hand, sweets at the classroom door —

I don't see why you should miss out.

Unasked. Unseen. Sweet.

-DTH-

More free verse at Line of Poetry