The Shadows

A poem

Once,
a long time ago
the Shadows
broke into my home.

They spread
through the kitchen
and the living room
into the bedrooms
and under the sheets,
into the photo albums
tainting every good memory.
They even took over
every channel
on the television,
and I hid in the basement
scared and alone
hoping someone
would come and save me;

and eventually a hand
reached into the darkness
and took mine,
and together
we walked
a step at a time
up those stairs
and the shadows moved back
and out the door
and across the grass
and into the forest again.

The hand then led me
around my house
and showed me
that many things had changed.

Some of the Shadows
had eaten through the walls and floor
and I saw some beams
were rotten there
and would have to go,
a strange revelation
I would not have known otherwise.

Some rooms looked different
in a way I could not explain
but I saw their beauty
in a new light.

Some corners
sent a chill through my bones
and I generally avoided them
as much as possible.

One day
after time had passed
I opened the door
and crossed the yard,
and stood at the forest edge
where the Shadows still were.

I thanked them for
their strange gifts
though I said I would prefer
they not come uninvited again.

Some days I look up
and see a Shadow
just standing in the yard
and staring.

Some dark nights,
I hear the Shadows
scratching gently against the door,
and every once in awhile
they rattle the knob
and make my heart race.

Sometimes,
I imagine
what it would be like,
to unlock the door
and invite the Shadows in,
not as invaders,
but for a cup of neighborly tea,
and we’d sit across the table
and talk
or even just,
sit in silence,
companionably.