Sunday, August 25, 2013
A Poem by Brandon Figlionlino
There's no monster under my bed;
it's on the bed, trapped within the spun cotton fibers of my pillow.
In the mask of nightfall, it burrows and digs
searching for salvation.
I hear it after my nightly prayers,
my ear pressed to the pillow
eyes shut, one heavy breath away from slumber.
It speaks to me in subtle teeth gnashing and guttural growls.
I respond with solemn whimpers and slight shaking.
I imagine it to resemble a worm, long and curling
sharp spikes covering its hard shell casing
twisting like a tiny dancer, contorting its body to the rhythmic melody of my pulsing temple.
One day, my tiny little dancer will escape its synthetic hell
and burrow into my ear while I rest.
Blood will drip from my wound,
a trail for it to find its way back out.
But it won't need it, for rooted deep in my brain,
it will always be in good company.
Brandon Figliolino is a recent graduate of the University of Colorado's Creative Writing and Political Science programs. He currently lives in Denver. He's been published in several literary journals and currently help manages the poetry section of Red Fez Magazine.