4.5
A gasp and a cry.
Thumping up
steep stairs.
(Too steep. Stupid builders!)
“Creak,” shouts the landing.
The end of the
hallway groans.
Shuddering with sobs,
my boy is waiting
for a savior.
“Jesus is keeping you safe.”
Fears stilled.
We douse the bedside lamp.
Darkness pounces,
never slinks,
into the room.
A preschool imagination fires
a million
synaptic
candles.
Sleep quenches them –
one
then 10…
Later I pause at the door.
Hairs on my neck exalt themselves –
What if he’s not alone?
The panic of a four-and-a-half year old
throttles me.
And ghouls and goblins
and bad guys and grey wolves
parade through the open windows
of my heart
into his room.
I steel myself; inhale.
The door exhales.
A child alone,
basking in his tiny faith.