–for christopher robin
there are things as a child
we do not understand
and what we do not
understand
we make up
when we ate our vegetables
said our prayers
and left the light turned on
the world was a much
better pace
under a bed tent
made of sheets
i clicked the light
on
off
when something moved–
knowing full well
that even brussell sprouts
were no match
for closet shadows
mother said keep
the door closed
they would stay away
but they did not
stay away
they danced out to
juggle my toys
sang my name
in mocking songs
i would fall asleep
white knuckles
holding down the sheets
casting a shadow
