Dreamwalker
Distant humming from a place I could not recall,
A silent still room, tingling dread gnawing the nape of the neck,
Spring leaves at the window cast green light on drywall,
The cuckoo bird hunches on its talons, ready to peck.
From the ceiling a jaw unhinges,
offering a ladder to lick me up.
In the corners of the room, flickering shadows gather at the fringe.
As I crawl into the attic’s mouth, the trapdoor locks –thump–
“Were you called?” A soft widow whispers,
“Were you brave?” A booming warrior commands,
“Did you save her, or did you cave?” The inner child mocked.
To them I say, “Could you tell me the time of day?”
