Prey

A sense of danger wraps around me

like a tattered, worn, familiar blanket.

It's been long since

I've met this old friend

who makes the hair on the back of my neck rise

and my ears prick up

in vigilance

because closed doors and quiet can't keep me safe.

My mind is racing with calculations

predictions

extrapolations

so that my actions now, though benign and harmless,

don't lead me straight into the pits of hell tomorrow.

My children's voices

reach me through my haze—

muffled complaints of boredom

hunger

or, loneliness.

I smile and speak to them through a lump growing in my throat.

Prepare lunch telling myself: I am safe,

I am safe,

As I grip my knife over my cutting board,

in case my invisible enemy attacks.

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