Monday, December 14, 2015



I feel like I’m walking across a thin glass bridge
and everyone moving past me
carry sledge-hammers

I feel like some trapped child
is wailing inside a sound-proof room
between my stomach and my lungs

It is 1974 again—

I have forgotten my address,
and the day camp has left me to go swimming
so I wander the school parking lot alone 

I imagine this is what it feels like to be dead

Somebody comes back for me 45 minutes later
but by then I have tasted it

The dread of loneliness
and it is too late

The darkness standing sentinel
at the edges of the tree’s shadows
begins to smile—

Show its teeth.

 By Chris Banks