Afraid
I am afraid of the dog in the yard at night that lunges at the fence,I am afraid that the chain I don’t see isn’t there. I dart out in the dark street dodging headlights.
I am afraid of the night coming in to the house
of the headlights angling through the window
of what the cat hears
I am afraid of being always on the outside, as
on a summer evening on Virginia Beach, when
the rest of the family swam earlier while I watched the baby,
I come in from swimming, my mother - depressed for weeks – laughs,
throws a beachball to Billy, Kenny, Cherie, my stepfather
I feel light as I run to join them,
she sees me, her face goes blank, her arms lose their strength,
the beach ball falls on the sand.
I am afraid of her face, walling me out, and
I am afraid of my fear that dissolves what I see and replaces it with that blank face
I am afraid of the churning of the train at night as I walk near the tracks
how it shakes me to my bones, and
as it passes, its long tail of cars
like crack the whip,
I suck in my breath preparing for impact, and
when the second train comes, the long tail that will not strike hurtling towards me,
I am afraid of how I ready myself even so, and
when the train passes
how I am still there
I am afraid when you leave me
of how I am still here.