Under the Stars

Posted: June 13, 2010 in My Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

When camping
and the tent moves,
rustles in the wind
don’t be afraid.
The boogeyman only likes
small children.

It is quiet
at night in a tent
when the people
in the next campground space
finally hush their baby,
and the occasional bark
of the dog down the way
peters out to silence.

It feels like the whole
world is pausing –
holding its breath,
as it listens for
same as you.

As though the world
is frightened,
and every rustle or step
has sinister meaning.

But crickets chirp
into that hush –
like a hand over a mouth –
They sing unafraid.
So should you.


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