Where have you hidden your fear?
—Wendy Videlock
Sometimes in yellowed pages,
sometimes in apple seeds,
beneath a flight of squeaky stairs,
inside abandoned shoes.
But also in the syllables
that never meet the air,
in broken cups,
and under leaves,
inside the writhing jazz.
And sometimes I forget to hide
my fear behind the dusty vase.
I leave it on the countertop
or in my shopping cart
where a child who does not know
that it is something to be feared
will pick it up and play with it
like a ball, like a doll,
like a shard of a fun house mirror.