Long before it reaches
out to scratch you,
you can hear the darkness
of the woods surround you
with a hissing sound
that raises hairs
upon your arms.
You walk more quickly,
break into a run
as if a run was what
your feet were meant to be.
Cold sweat runs down
your cheeks, your chin,
you know you're in
for it unless you pick
up speed. Indeed,
you’re in the house.
You latch the door.
Now you can breathe.
You peek out curtains.
You expect to see a beast.
You look into the beady
eyeballs of a
mouse.
published in Medusa's Kitchen
Comments