The Thing Under the Bed
It started small, a ball
of dust and string. I
fed it crackers, fairy
tales, and lightning
storms. I washed
it with my tears. It
breathed out red
hot fire, it
basked in fights,
the screams,
the punches. It
drank the liquor in
the house and grinned
when Daddy hit
my brother. I
finally saw the
thing that hid
and saw that
it was me.
Last Lover
You leave me gifts
at my front door:
leaves dancing in the wind,
sudden snow storms,
lightning flashes.
You watch me when
I watch the dogs
scrambling out the door.
You smell the coffee
brewing, trickling in my cup.
You laugh at me for
locking doors
and windows.
There is no way
to keep you out.
Someday you’ll come to get me
no matter if
I run and hide.
You are my final lover,
you are the kiss of death.
Nolcha (@NolchaF) has written all her life, starting with poop and crayons on the walls. That led to a long career in technical writing. She retired into creative writing. Her poems have been published in WyoPoets News, Duck Head Journal, Ancient Paths, and The Red Lemon Review.