Tonight's Poet Corner: The Creeper On The Second Floor
The Creeper On The Second Floor by Belinda Roddie I'm lifted from my bed by a hand I cannot see. The invisible fingers prod the dents and divots in my back, a textured mosaic across my skin. I am being guided to the window, where I see her dragging a scratched oar across the watery mouth of the canal. Just glancing at her is like receiving a vaccine for the first time. I am protected from all ills, the ache in my arm from the metaphorical needle subsiding quickly, with a warmth replacing the vacuum in my chest. The palm concealed from my sight presses hard into my shoulder, and I careen into the pane, the imprint of my cheek lingering, my shallow breaths fogging up the glass. She looks up briefly, her eyes widen, and she rows faster, faster, until she beats the current back and disappears from my view. I am only a simple soul yearning for more than a shadow to love me. I will keep watching her when I can, while my imaginary confidante gives me insight on