Darkness

I draw the closet door shut

and watch as the cracks of light become smaller until

black.

I had forgotten my fear of the dark.

This isn’t darkness though–

darkness is my front yard back home

lit by the stars and flickering street lamps,

dim enough for me to trip over a garden hose.

This is tar

painted on the dark side of the moon.

I blink to make sure that my eyes

aren’t glued shut.

 

My vacuum cleaner–

or perhaps the floor lamp that broke last semester

–cramps my toes while

my hamper digs into my heels.

Bulky sweaters and silk scarves

rustle against my bare arms.

Thin slices of light crawl underneath the door

where the wood has worn away.

 

Outside I can hear the quiet clatter

of fingers on computer keys and then

my roommate calls

You going to Narnia?

I laugh and rest my forehead against

the closet door.

 



1 Comment so far

  1.   Jessica Chrisman on February 28th, 2013

    There are various aspects of this poem which work really well. The alliteration of “computer keys” brings to mind the actual sound of clicking keys. The comparison of the darkness to “tar painted on the far side of the moon” was great as well.

    There are some instances where you tell more than show and there are some really great images that could be put in its place, such as the description of the clothes on your bare arms.