Conversations with my body: 1.7
beyond the cardboard crate,
in the darkest corner of the shed,
i spot the perfect place to hide.
you huddle yourself together for the crouch,
shrinking from the insect hideouts i imagine,
in natural aversion,
till more enraptured by the chase,
i urge you into squatting amidst the cobwebs,
your pulse racing.
I stop your breath:
find me, don’t find me, FIND ME, don’t…
to be found in the dark!
your gangly arms and legs unseen, invisible,
where only the beating hearts are touched.
your heart hammers in your ears.
i am joyfully terrified—
swirling words and giddy animal impulse.
the scent of redwood bark wafts through cracks;
damp air rises from the concrete.
the air is close, the dark enfolding.
you listen for creeping things
though those i fear most make no sound.
the cardboard thumps, your breath draws in.
it is the CAT, purring loudly in the dark.
a sudden nearby squeal,
the garage door opens to a flood of light.
we won, we weren’t discovered.
somehow i am disappointed.