She falls asleep with the light on
like it will help in some small way,
she has never been fond of the darkness
was not allowed to watch horror movies
as a child
scares easily,
it’s as if she thinks death
has an aversion to luminosity;
at night, she bathes in neon
like apocalyptic flies:
belly up, no longer buzzing,
lifeless as a dish
rack…

She sleeps lightly, wakes often
with a scare,
seizing my hand;
expecting me to tell her
everything will be alright
when I know nothing
of the kind.