For the little boy in my charge,
death is not the bogeyman in the closet.

It has a real face, a human face,
that tells him a loved one
can leave at any time.

It is the face of his mother,
motionless on the floor,
so asleep no one could wake her.

Or the face of his father,
a knife at his own throat,
crying as the police took him away.

This boy gets up at 2 a.m., saying
he is worried about scorpions
crawling into his bed.

I explain to him,
there are no scorpions in New Jersey.
That keeps him for the night.

But tomorrow will be a new worry,
and death will still invade his dreams.

It doesn’t matter if the closet door
is open or shut.

03/01/2002

Posted on 03/01/2002
Copyright © 2024 Bruce W Niedt