Afraid of the Dark

An abundant, hazy moon

peers nosily into my window

sending shadows stretching like contented cats

as they pad over to butt and rub their inky heads

against the arm flowing thoughtlessly

over the side of the bed.

And I,

sleepily stirring at their silky touch,

feel awareness trudge back into my body,

trickling down my arm

to land in the hand dangling precariously

over their spectral maws.

I swiftly rescind the appendage

back into the mattress’s circle of protection

and away from the obscure wilderness

where reflective eyes observe and condemn

and feline throats purr and growl

and retractable claws scrape and caress.

And as I lie waiting for Schrödinger

to come and call off his beasts,

I stare into the dimness and wonder

if I’m afraid of finding eyes watching me back,

or if my greater fear is that I am, in fact,

alone.