A green monster
grins too big for the face.
A witch’s foot
curls up into her legs.
A glassy mirror, cracking open inward
to show the darkness of my reflection.
A white-faced man, scuttling
through a tortuous cave.
A doll with fire hair
his face stuck in an open-mouthed grimace.
When I close my eyes,
these are the shapes the shadows take.
I tuck my feet beneath the covers,
lest they take me next.
Photo by Carolina Pimenta on Unsplash
Published by Rachel Sandell
Rachel Sandell is a writer and editor from Washington State, where rainy days necessitate long books, hot chocolate, and plenty of magic. Though she specializes in speculative fiction and harbors a love for the dark and enchanting, she also dabbles in poetry and is the archive project coordinator for Fireweed: Poetry of Oregon. She is an MFA graduate from the Rainier Writing Workshop, and her short stories have appeared in SORTES magazine, Night Picnic Press, and Leading Edge magazine.
View all posts by Rachel Sandell