Watch the Shadows
Margaret Calaway
I feel eyes burning
the back of my head.
I see a figure in the corner
who will disappear
as soon as I turn my head.
Just like everyone else, I
dismiss this as my imagination.
I don’t think about it because
I’m afraid of what I’ll find
if I pry further. Yet the memory lingers
in the back of my mind as I
close and lock my windows.
I think I’m following
my instincts, but twenty years later,
I know better. The real
monster doesn’t lurk beneath
my bed; it floats outside my
window. I know to look for
the shadows that don’t
belong. I share this danger with
the children who listen. Ten more years
pass. I’ve stopped helping people.
I’ve lost my sympathy with
my left hand. I’ve learned from my
mistakes. Now, I do what benefits
me, here in this land where children
never grow old.
I still hear the screams.