Author Information
Half Past Late
In the middle of the night
You hear nothing but your feather-like footsteps padding on the solid wood floor.
You see nothing but a black hole, a tunnel, with no light at the end.
A pinhole of moonlight shines through the kitchen curtain
And a thin, sparkling stream of iridescent light dances on the floor.
A neon glow of the time, 2:52 a.m., flashes on the stove as you creep your way across the floor.
The house seems inhabitable,
With its darkened windows and creaky old steps.
Suddenly you feel a gust of wind hurry past you
And a quick eye pulls a shadow from the distance.
Your heart pounds like melodic drums
And your hands sweat like a waterfall.
This is no ordinary night,
There is something wrong here.
You become light-headed and scared
As the darkness rears its ugly head in a more vicious way
And the kitchen twists dark on its spine*.
Frightened you are,
But this was just the beginning.
*And the kitchen twists dark on its spine
Taken from “Cutting Greens”
By Lucille Clifton.
