NIGHT

she returned to her home deep in night
the familiar form of the house striking somehow foreign, ominous
interior was black and occluded, a single light bulb on the porch
burning all of its 80 watts into a corona over the steps

she held her keyring like a weapon, as she’d been taught
long key tucked between the forefinger and the middle
in case she had to stab somebody with it

She unlocked the door hurriedly,
Into the mudroom and slammed the door behind her,
locking the handle as it closed
Darkness there, and nothing more?

The windows were left open

Chilled and damp, like the morning was uninvited
something outside slithered into her home
and the kind of air that doesn’t belong indoors
felt like dew on the countertops and doorframes

Room to room, she switched the light on to check
and then switched it off behind her
Trepidation in the misty spring
She switched the light on in her bedroom and stood there
Waiting, maybe
Checking
a few minutes

When the coast was clear, she changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed. Pulled heavy blankets over her body. She fell asleep.

The night was alive with sickle-eyed cats.
Creatures ambling along fenceposts and knowing the moon
so much more intimately than the sun

She woke the next morning, feeling rested
A coffee on the porch
The sun was red and low behind the neighborhood homes
it drank slowly
The cool, damp night had left her bedroom
And caught a current of breeze,
to the place where cats look when they chase imaginary things