Perspective
A bunch of us were sitting
in my college dorm room
telling each other spooky stories.
The room was dark except
for the eerie glow of my lava light,
making its globby forms
one of the girls thought disgusting.
I was sprawled and comfy
on my roommate’s beanbag chair
holding my doll, made of cloth and yarn,
which everyone thought was ugly,
except it was cute to me.
It really was ugly, though.
I told them about my grandma
during WWII who had two sons overseas,
my dad and his brother Bill.
One day, she was in the upstairs
of her house looking at Uncle Bill’s picture
when large black wings embraced her,
only for a moment.
I didn’t think the story particularly scary,
figuring it was just God’s heads-up
to Grandma since Uncle Bill was killed
a few days later. But apparently
one of the guys thought it unnerving,
because when I threw my rag doll at him
he went straight up like a rocket.
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