By Mercy Godwin 3 months ago


The light over the backyard tunnel always shone at dawn,

I see it in my dreams smelling of fresh bakes outside 

the sill of the squeaky attic window in my grand mother's house

It has many faces in red, blue, white and green

they smiled at me even on cold breezy mornings

When I sunk into the embrace of the blue dinosaur sheets Mama bought me one summer,

Those mornings when I didn't dance to granny's wake up call for school 

and drifted further into the bushy paths just outside the old fence.

She pinched my cheeks red one time for skipping into those paths, she had said that if the child nappers came no soul would hear my screams among the tall grasses,

That if she heard her arthritis wouldn't let her feet go fast enough,

She said I might go with them and spend all my toyhood days in their den with no one to rescue my stubborn butt.

I love granny dearly, but she never had to paint such a scary picture to keep me in sight,

I told her I would try to forget the beetles, the butterflies and the lizards 

I chase down those paths at evenings

They're not my friends if they would let nappers take me. 

But still I stand at that squeaky attic window and the light with many faces 

calls to me, offering a bite.

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