"Story" by Brian McCabe


I lay awake in bed, listening

to the wind with the night

like something dropped

from some great height

through the house. I sneak down

the stairs, the wood

creaking under my weight

and sit on the last step

Around the wall, my parents

are still alive, watching TV

Its light cuts across the floor

and I want to see what

bathes the room in blue

I want them to know

my thoughts tomorrow

I don’t know it now but

they know I’m here, hiding

listening to sitcom laughter

passing through the wall. I keep

so still I hear the breath come

to my lung. I hear it now

as my father rises to carry me

back to bed. In the night in the dark

it’s like forever moving you on