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The Leaves Are Hushed
The Leaves are Hushed
Alone
she stares through a skylight
playing I spy with the sky,
creating fantastical creatures
out of skimming, brimming clouds.
Suddenly
a shadow swiftly smears a window
staining its filmy, hazed glass;
a corrugated feeling, firm and undulating
settles steel-hard in her stomach.
Hurriedly
her hand reaches for her heart
but it isn’t there…….,
it’s replaced by a beating drum
which beats and repeats the words:
Someone somehow has been outside, somewhere sometime staring inside!
Fear
begins to mock-shock,
taunting, teasing her thoughts
sharpening, tightening like countersunk screws
then she hears…. silence creeping towards her.
Shockingly
as if reinforcing her worry…
a door creaks, a floor shrieks,
a foot whispers and the leaves… are hushed
as a hand prepares to….. strike.
Outside
the evening’s flag of sky
has rolled itself tightly up
allowing the dark to leak-sneak everywhere……
even inside her head.
Abruptly
there’s an escape from
the night-tight tension;
a car’s headlights torch the side of the house
and a yellow warmth washes her room.
Instantly
the leaves agitated and distressed
begin sprinting in different directions
seeking out safety from the ominous threat
while the girl’s corrugated stomach is shredded.
Immediately
she flees to her bedroom window
sees her parent’s car and relief floods her
but a shimmer in the shade of the shadows
reveals the hand still…. ready to strike.
Ian Souter
Copyright ©
Ian Souter
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