Lullaby

There are no ghosts in the attic.

Monsters will not be found lurking in closets

or peering from blackness beneath beds. 

On nights like these, starlight

lulls shadow creatures to sleep

and drapes itself gently,

shining and thin—as gossamer on branch. 

The presence of centuries past 

reaches gentle fingers to smudge joy

across tooth and lip— 

glancing up reveals drops of opal light 

falling through worlds.

The girl finds herself resting lightly,

sleepy, almost dreaming as

beast burrows closer to beast

and the beholder finds herself beheld.

AS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN CHOMP: A JOURNAL OF STUDENT LITERATURE AND ART