Halloween?

This poem -- I just don't know who the poet was when she wrote it -- it doesn't quite sound like me. But, yes, I did write it, and it's been in my send-out book (mostly being skipped over) for years. So now, it's yours. 

Sweeter Than That                                                                

In the house where you grew up, heaven 
was everywhere, though secret. One day

you were certain to stumble across it, 
a hidden panel in a wall, a door at the back 

of a closet, a bookshelf swinging aside 
like in a Nancy Drew novel. Every October 

the Halloween goblins and ghouls 
whispered their alternative story of the afterlife, 

one with skeletons and dripping flesh, 
candied apples, popcorn balls, peppermints. 

Your friends lived in town and got all the best candy.
Beside their fake wounds and orange hair, 

how could your heaven not look bland? 
But think of those Sunday afternoons 

when your mother insisted you nap,
the hush in the house almost too much to be real, 

like a further proof that the world beyond 
this world was everywhere, and sweeter.