boogeywoman

Annette O'Neil
2 min readFeb 27, 2020

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what are you afraid of, annette,

he says

and i know his eyes are blue and gold and soft but i am not looking.

i am looking at a tiny hole in my pants leg

and at myself

very small

and very sad

and well outside of her words,

standing outside a car that’s being packed full of boxes

again

again

wondering why we never stay

why can’t we stay

and i know what i am afraid of

exactly what i am afraid of

but i will not tell you now.

the words stay in my mouth,

almost-sweet,

like the smell of smoke in cotton.

i am afraid

i’m in that old familiar fitting room

and this armful of good ideas

which so thoroughly tempted my imagination

won’t stand up to the harsh light and the mirror

won’t button over the growing swell of my expectations

and i’ll have to hand it all back to the brittle-smiling salesgirl

(did anything work out for you today

i’m afraid not)

i am afraid

of the willful children

of my yesses

and my nos

running screaming through my house

while i slump over the kitchen table, pressing my temples with my palms

GET BACK HERE

PUT THAT DOWN

STOP IT NOW

WOULD YOU PLEASE

they would not please

they use my voice to make wild proclamations to the neighbors

they take my hand to sign the papers

they check my luggage and they put me on the plane

and i’m afraid of their next

AMAZING

idea

i am afraid

of the sound of sand through the tight waist of an hourglass

because nothing ever stays

and little-girl-me still wonders, with balled-up fists

if maybe she could make it so.

but she knows she’ll get into the car

and force herself to look through the windshield

and not the back glass

i am not afraid you’ll leave.

i am only in suspense.

(everybody leaves everybody eventually

my grandmother left my grandfather

after 68 years

suddenly, in the kitchen, with a gasp standing in for goodbye)

what am afraid of, puppy,

mostly

is annette.

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