At night when she tries
to wind down her mind,
thoughts creep in on thin
spiders' legs. Doubts
drag heavy laden limbs
across the floor and light
on her already Burdened
shoulders. Her fears slide
under cracks and crevices
in the ceilings and walls, swirling
like thick, acrid smoke that could
choke her at any time. Thinking back
to a time when swizzle sticks stirred
lemonade and eyes were
not orbs of incoherent babble.
Dolls lined beds lain
with crinoline, and pick -up sticks
littered the floor.
No more.
The room is solitude and monsters
under the bed, just like mama said
there would be. She cannot open
her eyes, not one Peep. If she does,
she'll find not Sheep but darkness,
depth unknown. Despair
that makes her tear
her hair and slice and dice.
And that’s not nice.

I.  The Aftermath 

Hidden beneath clouds of dust, red clay,
           fake flowers,
I stand obscure; devoid of power.
My pleas spill forth like hordes of bees,
           swarming, stinging, thorns unseen
I leave no tracks; I’m thin as air;
I make no sound over your despair.
I am here, warm flesh, yet gone.
You hide in your room with curtains drawn.

II. The Graveside

People dance round me like rings of smoke.
They cast dark shadows a bit baroque,
           then turn and twist away from me,
A wisp of ash no one can see.
The crowd winds down; the people leave.
One solitary soul stands left to grieve.

III. Solitude

My death, not yours I left today
           beneath your bed of earth and clay.
I am the silent boy, you see.
           In your death, you buried me.
No trace, no memory when I was born;
Only for you my parents mourn.

I Am the Forgotten Brother;
In your shroud I scream, then smother.