The shadows dropped from my dreams
To lurk in the bowels of my bedroom–the black gap
By the closet door and the murky well
Beneath my desk–where they know I won’t want to look.
I will (to know the face of my fear).
I won’t (I’m still afraid of the dark).
The moon marches to my rescue and clears
A path across the shadowland, but even he stops short
Before the inky mess inside my closet and we
Are both left wondering.
Coldness scratches across my chest
And my fingers fumble for my flashlight,
Until panic pushes it to clatter down the bunk bed
Ladder, landing far, far below on the floor
Where only little sister–from where she lies
On the bed below mine–can reach up
And hand me the light again.