Three Days Later - a reading (on YouTube)
I wake at 4 a.m.
with a sense so strong it feels like foreshadowing,
Like my childhood is about to play out on a much larger
stage,
Like I am still trapped within it with nowhere else to go.
Once again, I am too small to shape events around me,
Powerless to seek safety anywhere but beneath my bed,
A hiding place of no protection.
I creep past the lairs of grendel and her daughter,
The night watch drunk and sleeping,
The hall a deathly still,
Hoping I am too minuscule to notice,
Too inoffensive to draw attention,
Knowing I am offense enough.
When do I become the hero of my story?
When do I no longer have to fight?
When do I nail the monster’s arm above my bedroom door?
Relinquish hope all who enter here.
For I already have.
