Page 11 (1/2)

Myrong

I ith fear prickling at my skin

I sit up, knuckling the sleep out of arlic and rose The pots I scoured last night sit glea on the stove From over the doorway, the littleis peaceful and safe I begin to stretch

And then

From the corner of my eye, I see them: shadows clustered around the coal scuttle Too many shadows

And one thought burns through my body: there is a demon in the kitchen

Even before e, o mad Every child knows that Every child knows the prayer Apollo all-healer, Apollo light-bringer, Apollo Invictus: deliver us fro it to me when I was little and she was still alive; I remember how she stroked the hair back fro at the shadows

But I don’t say the prayer Because I aer a child And my mother is not alive

“Mother,” I whisper instead “Please Send away the demon”

Suddenly er feels like the taut surface of a drum; my heartbeat slows, and the pressure in apes chill and eain

The air stirs against h and half a kiss I s convulsively, then smile, because I’m never alone

My host is alith me

“Thank you, Mother,” I say

I airl in the world whose mother can protect her from demons

The clock chimes seven thirty Fear hurtles me to my feet, sharp and cold as when the demon huddled by the coal scuttle Stepht, and if it isn’t steary If she’s angry, then she punishes ry—and if Mother gets angry, as she did with my nurse—

Don’t think it, don’t think it I slam the pots into position, because if I think about what happened to my nurse, then I will cry, and I can’t cry I cannot ever, ever cry

That airy caress again, this tiainst my cheek I smile; my body is trained even when my mind is awhirl

My