When My Name Is Called
caught a glimmer of a glimpse of an old man
I felt lucky that it was daylight
Dismissed it as fertile imagination
an hour later I heard a giggle
a tiny voice, a child’s voice, in my head
easily ignored at breakfast when I turned up my own voice
there were footsteps coming toward the kitchen
the door never swings open
I waited, anticipating my neighbor. Called out. No answer
I am unconcerned, my fantasy world is true
prancing around, writing poems unbeknownst to me,
and often creating narratives while I slumber
I have to sleep with a night light now
for the giggles, whispers and footsteps
are not as easy to ignore in the dark
the evenings are the worst
when I hear my name being called
and I live alone
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