The Blink of a Clown

The nursery was silent, but the toys were watching the shadows for something

that did not belong. On the shelf, Chuckles the clown sat trembling,

his painted grin wider than it was before. You were on the chair.

Every time the child blinked, the doll crept closer, its soft fabric

feet making no sound at all. Then the light died, and the closet

door began its slow, agonizing creak into the blackness. Don't blink.

The room was neat again, but the toys had changed, their eyes following

the boy's every breath. It learned mine.