Startled and afraid in your empty house from the sound of your
own foot stepping on an old wood board. Click, then echo,
then the long creek. Followed by another. Followed by another.
First is the swallowing panic, then it is horror, then the crazed fear grows into the chest gripping, to finally your ears ring so loud you can’t hear if it is you screaming or a siren some where far off in the next town over
It hard to live soft enough
Not to wake up the fear
that hides in awareness
You are here
And Henry is not
Annieepoetry 