Perhaps these
are the spectres that haunt us

Little kid wearing
too-long red, white, and blue plaid pajama pants and
a fuzzy emerald long-sleeved t-shirt
Creaks the door open a crack
There is nothing but inky pitch

It’s his own room, but
he doesn’t like what he sees
Or what he doesn’t see

The closet trembles
God only knows what’s inside

Rustling in the corner,
whispering from the shadow,
the weight of breath behind his back

Don’t move a muscle

The quilt is a shroud,
His nightmares
daydream of
living Nightmares

Just an accessory to the
circus of Fear
His heart does the trapeze
His breath walks the tightrope

He’s muttering prayers under the covers
His bed a dinghy in an ocean of Self
pleasepleaseplease
Hyperventilating
What a poor,
asthmatic soul

Just sleep, child
Son-
Just sleep

Don’t ask me how I got his story
I hope he’s ok
I hope he remembers to hope
I hope he remembers that day is coming
I hope he remembers it’s all in his mind
I hope he remembers to throw open the blinds
I hope he remembers that somebody loves him
I hope he’s going to be ok

I should hope-
I should hope he’s ok
I should hope he remembers to hope
I should hope he remembers that day is coming
I should hope he remembers it’s all in his mind
I should hope he remembers to throw open the blinds
I should hope he remembers that somebody loves him

Because that kid?
That kid is me.