First Night Alone

The light went out, then on again,

a sudden gulp of dark,

and in that hush, the floorboards groaned,

a shudder from the stark

corners of the house, where shadows played

their shifting, silent game.

I was a girl, just ten years old,

and called my own full name

into the quiet, just to hear

a sound I recognized.

The moon, a pale and watchful eye,

through window glass surprised

my coat, flung on the chair,

made it a hunched and waiting thing.

I pulled the covers to my chin,

and listened to the sing

of pipes, the distant bark of dogs,

each sound a stranger, vast.

The night was long, a drawn-out breath,

a first lesson that would last.