The lights were out. I sat in bed
And stared into the hallway.
I stared at laundry-shaped witch faces
And the old man in the wood grain
And my feet.
The lights were out.
Silent boards were sure to creak.
I waited for the footsteps
And listened for a voice
For a laugh
As I watched my feet.
The lights were out,
And out the window, dogs were barking,
Trains were passing,
Cars were honking,
Distantly, only for a moment;
Then none at all.
The lights were out.
The air was still.
I sat in bed and watched my feet
And let the nightlight glow and reign
As lord and wizard of the silent bedroom.
Down the stairs, my parents forgot to sound alive.
My bed felt quite distinctly
To stand a meter off the ground
And my closet hung ajar.
I thought of my own hands clinging to my covers,
My mother’s as she tucked me in,
And as many other hands as I could think of.
I grew acutely aware of fingers
Sitting in bed.
The lights were out.
Nothing made a sound,
And I watched my feet.
April 19th, 2019
The Favoring Wind 