The Night Light Confession

The Night Light Confession

I kept the night light on until I was twelve
Not because I was afraid of the dark
But because of what the dark showed me
When the light went out

Shapes in the corner that had weight
Shadows that breathed independently
The closet door opening three inches
Every single night at 2 AM

My parents said imagination
My therapist said anxiety
But neither of them spent the night
In the room that breathed without me

The night light kept the covenant
Between the child and what lived in the wall
The night light was the terms of the agreement
And the darkness honored the deal

I went back to that house last year
Thirty years older, less afraid
Or so I thought until I climbed the stairs
And stood in front of my childhood bedroom

The night light was still plugged in
Still burning the same amber glow
Same outlet, same bulb
In a house that had changed owners three times

And when I pulled the plug
The closet door opened three inches
And the darkness that came out
Was older too

But the agreement was with a child
And I am not a child anymore
And whatever was waiting in the closet
Has been waiting for the child to come back

Not the man
The child

And it does not recognize
What I have become
And the new terms
Have not been negotiated