if day has to become night

We slept in the closet

We slept in the closet
on a queenspring;
white walls sheltered cloud-
stitched blankets and
pillows with the shape of each of
Christopher Robin’s friends.
A map of the world crowded
rest of the space; there was room
enough for our bed
but none for the boogeyman.
Outside lay gleamingblocks;
our traps hidden in thick carpet
and a huge wooden castle dad
had built. It’s walls higher than
tiptoes and strong enough to
keep even the dark things out.
And when the news came on
or soft sleepyeyes settled over the house
mom lead us back upstairs;
our small feet scratchingmice on hardwood
and we would shriek into bed
using the last of our energy
in jumbling the sheets.
She would smile
foreheadkisses dream well
but I preferred the grasp
of cool, solid earlobe;
It felt safe
and fit in my tiny hands.
And when she left,
though the moonlight threw shadows
that hung watching through
the door sliveredopen,
my hand held the impression of
a small pink shield and so
the silvered light
bounced straight from block
to castle to dreams.