Pins

Crying, I recall
my father shudders, remembering
tall thin men at the foot of the bed
apparitions at night, faceless
heads like pins, mostly arms,
sharp at their sides.
One of those things you stare at
open-mouthed, barely breathing,
waiting for it to go away.
Apparitions at night don’t stay,
you hope, a child,
my father, in bed, wanting
to cry, unable to see,
unsure if they
can see you too,
trying not to move,
their pin-heads just there,
at the foot of the bed, tall thin men-
I recall something like-
I see them when I walk slowly enough-
turn a corner, looking sideways-
there they are, the thin men-
always following, waiting for me
to cry out or move, pinning me
in bed, in memories of bed, even awake-
hard to escape, memory, and my father
a child, waiting.

___

The featured image accompanying this poem, entitled ‘The Night’, have been used with the permission of artist Patricio Betteo.

Robert Eric Shoemaker

Robert Eric Shoemaker is a poet, playwright, and journalist in Chicago. His work is published with the Chicago After Dark Anthology and the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting. For more info, visit reshoemaker.com.

Get the Most Recent Stories from Rollick

A weekly newsletter featuring new and emerging writers.

More from Rollick

Hello I am a Star

  Sky sky sky sky stars Stars and stars and stars HELLO STARS I love you Blink blink blink twinkle Sky, my home I am

One

I can feel the evening sun, warm on my face, but the chill of the wind coaxes me to pull my coat tighter around me. 

This Place, it Echoes

  My first real breath of air smells of pine and woodsmoke. It comes to me on a cool breeze, mid-afternoon, a sunny day that