Within the cobwebs of sleep
grandfather spiders through my mind;
eager to spin another tale.

Five again,
Trembling.
Pigtails, log-heavy
on shoulders.
Knees to chin,
in corner of mothballed closet.
Grandmother screams as he beats her
when she bars the fragile door.

Her futile attempt to save me.

I surface, grope for bedside lamp.
Everybody knows monsters,
even grandfather spiders,
disappear in the light.

Pris Campbell
(c)12/8/2001

Music: Somewhere Out There

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