I comfort my shivering daughter
in those wee morning hours
just another dream
it can’t hurt you
and, wordlessly, for
her fingers are in her mouth,
she allows me to tuck her back in
and close her bedroom door.
Once it clicks shut, I drop the act
and fast walk, wild-eyed
past stairs leading
to abyssal witching depths
back to the master bedroom,
our supposed sanctuary, where
I refuse to let my feet linger
lest they be snatched
by cold, clammy hands
waiting beneath the bed.
I curl up under my covers,
leaving no digit exposed
knowing only
that I don’t know for sure
whether night’s shade is shared
and what’s concealed within, if so.
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