IN THE NIGHT

I have crept outside, after the sun has set.

I have unlocked my front door and tip toed up the streets.

Many nights, I have not had a destination, but have desired company.

And She is always there.
She doesn’t utter sound.

I mimic her, by attempting to walk with grace and stoicism, but know I look a child standing before her mother's window.

I trip on the jutting ridges of the cement, but the stars that make up the angular points in her face stay harmonious, fluid, and radiant.

I blush and try to hush all the cracking, grinding joints that make up my body.

I try to stifle my breath and let the crickets be the criminals to offend such a lady.

I am silent not out of fear or courtesy for those sleeping.
I am silent because she is humbling.

I cannot see beyond her, I am helpless and held attentive.

She stands above me.
Her thin, gnarled fingers twirl a black veil in a sweeping motion, enveloping my body.
It's a murky haze of what appears to be the detailed ornamentation of lace.

As her arm ends its cycle, a tattered, velvet shadow brushes past my shoulders.

I gaze upward in awe, while I struggle to put together the distorted images and scowling, menacing faces I am only table to piece together when I am faced with the absence of light.

She has shut it out, as she has done after everyday of sun.


We can try with our headlights, flares and flashes, but she will still be there.




-ANNA F-S