The Possum

There is a possum that sits on my husband’s chest at night. I can reach over and touch it. I can feel it’s coarse fur and sharp teeth. It looks at me and smiles, sinking lower into his chest. It isn’t real. It isn’t there. And yet I see it’s eyes shine. It isn’t real. It isn’t there. 

It isn’t real. 

It isn’t there.

Close your eyes. 

It isn’t real. 

Close your eyes. 

It isn’t there. 

Calm down. 

Close your eyes. 

Breathe slower. In. Out. In. Out. In…it’s still there. Staring at me. 

Smiling at me.

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