My Grandmother’s Bed
I sleep in my grandmother’s bed.
I don’t like it,
her snores echoing in my brain.
Stealing my sleep.
I wonder why she won’t let me have my own room.
As I ponder this question,
I hear it-
tap, tap.
tap, tap.
Echoing down the hallway.
The rhythm creating dissonance with the pounding of my heartbeat,
growing faster and faster,
his footsteps growing closer.
The clicking of a flashlight-
it’s him.
Why?
The cold, harsh light hits my face.
He looks disappointed.
Tap, tap.
tap, tap.
As the echo grows softer,
I am grateful,
That I don’t have my own room.
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