Crawling Eyes Spawning Nightmares on a Scary Thursday Night

Left alone.

A small boy, a latchkey kid

with big dreams in a small place.

Walking dirt roads looking for

Avalon.

*

Searching for souls, kindred

spirits, or unicorns grazing on

crabgrass in a neighbor’s yard.

Small boy, big dreams, laughing

at birds, laughing at him.

Wiping tears away on Tuesdays

and Thursdays — parents working late.

TV on to babysit.

*

Crawling Eyes spawning nightmares;

shadows moving by the stairs. Too

quiet, with no city sounds. No comfort

from kids yelling. Balls bouncing

against concrete walls. Sirens wailing then

fading as babies cry and air conditioners

hum in the night.

*

A small boy growing up — too fast. No plan.

No blueprint to follow. To smile. To

run. To hike asphalt streets, dodging cars.

Green grass is no substitute. Leaves provide

no grace as trees whistle in the night. As

birds hunker down on wires. As dogs

pace uneasily in kennels, hearing far

too much.

*

The small boy blames himself, all Catholic.

All sins and misgivings. It must be me, he

believes. All alone. There must be penance. Echoes

of prayers in quiet churches, no forgiveness.

The smell of incense and desperation. Silent

priests passing judgment. The fault lies somewhere

nearby. Pick it up. Make it mine.

*

Latchkey kid waits by the window,

for headlights pulling up the drive. Safe now.

Smiles at the ready, parents are home. Best to

sleep now and dream. Tomorrow’s a new day.

Latchkey Kid — — is a child who returns to an empty home after school (or other activities) or a child who is often left at home with no supervision because their parents are away at work. (Wikipedia)

I was a latchkey kid for years after the family left Brooklyn for our own home out on Long Island. It was supposed to be a journey, a new beginning. What it became mostly were lonely nights and quiet days spent in isolation. Scores of friends on adjacent blocks back home became two. Bike rides were communes with nature not an adventure in a peopled place that provided language and color and constant stimulation.

There was a sense of detachment coming into an empty house. As the door closed behind me, one somewhat lonely world was left behind as an even lonelier one was entered.

Furniture became friend or foe depending on the light and shadows in the room. I was old enough to know I wasn’t in any real danger but not old enough to understand why something that never moved or spoke could be so unfriendly.

This poem represents some of the thoughts I still remember from that time. The feelings, the fear when watching “Creatures Features” on television to pass the time when I was left alone at night. The Crawling Eye being one of the movies that has been hardest to forget.

Every day became a process of restoration. An active mind would conjure up all sorts of things to pass the time. Creatures outside my window. Fairies granting me wishes if I only could figure out the magic words. The hard days, those that never quite removed me from the past and how much I missed it, would leave little scars inside of me, that needed to heal at night, so when I awoke in the morning, I would be whole again.

It was interesting times.