She’s searching for meaning
in the shadows on the ceiling,
some wraith to warn her, ban
-shee her way fully awake;
there’s a hole in the kitchen wall now
and a ghost
of a chance she’ll still stay.
The day’s a fading bruise of
forked-tongue phrases said
and her heart’s still racing.
She’s going to need a minute.
There’s not much you can do
when the monster’s
not under the bed –
he’s in it.
::
In April, we poem.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
“there’s a hole in the kitchen wall now
and a ghost
of a chance she’ll still stay.
The day’s a fading bruise“
Oh, De. My heart …
Thank you. So thankful mine’s healed now.