Mother Talks Back to the Monster
Tonight, I dressed my son in astronaut pajamas,
kissed his forehead and tucked him in.
I turned on his night-light and looked for you
in the closet and under the bed. I told him
you were nowhere to be found, but I could smell
your breath, your musty fur. I remember
all your tricks: the jagged shadows on the wall,
click of your claws, the hand that hovered
just above my ankles if I left them exposed.
Since I became a parent I see danger everywhere—
unleashed dogs, sudden fevers, cereal
two days out of date. And even worse
than feeling so much fear is keeping it inside,
trying not to let my love become so tangled
with anxiety my son thinks they’re the same.
When he says he’s seen your tail or heard
your heavy step, I insist that you aren’t real.
Soon he’ll feel too old to tell me his bad dreams.
If you get lonely after he’s asleep, you can
always come downstairs. I’ll be sitting
at the kitchen table with the dishes
I should wash, crumbs I should wipe up.
We can drink hot tea and talk about
the future, how hard it is to be outgrown.
■
Tonight, I dressed my son in astronaut pajamas,
kissed his forehead and tucked him in.
I turned on his night-light and looked for you
in the closet and under the bed. I told him
you were nowhere to be found, but I could smell
your breath, your musty fur. I remember
all your tricks: the jagged shadows on the wall,
click of your claws, the hand that hovered
just above my ankles if I left them exposed.
Since I became a parent I see danger everywhere—
unleashed dogs, sudden fevers, cereal
two days out of date. And even worse
than feeling so much fear is keeping it inside,
trying not to let my love become so tangled
with anxiety my son thinks they’re the same.
When he says he’s seen your tail or heard
your heavy step, I insist that you aren’t real.
Soon he’ll feel too old to tell me his bad dreams.
If you get lonely after he’s asleep, you can
always come downstairs. I’ll be sitting
at the kitchen table with the dishes
I should wash, crumbs I should wipe up.
We can drink hot tea and talk about
the future, how hard it is to be outgrown.
■
Hello Friends,
Have you ever felt like a monster? What emotions do you entangle with love or anxiety? Who do you invite to talk at the kitchen table after bedtime? Today’s poem by Carrie Shipers first appeared in the North American Review (Vol. 300, no. 4, 2015). It can also be found in the anthology Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness & Connection (2019) edited by James Crews.
Thank you for celebrating poetry month with me!
— Ællen
Have you ever felt like a monster? What emotions do you entangle with love or anxiety? Who do you invite to talk at the kitchen table after bedtime? Today’s poem by Carrie Shipers first appeared in the North American Review (Vol. 300, no. 4, 2015). It can also be found in the anthology Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness & Connection (2019) edited by James Crews.
Thank you for celebrating poetry month with me!
— Ællen