Animal Sound
Animal I have no name for
biting me below a canopy of blankets,
I am scared. No nightlight
can chase the darkness from the storm
drain, no iPhone. I don’t want to sleep
with the door closed. I can hear
Mother screaming in the bathroom
a sound disemboweled out of darkness,
an animal splitting open into the sound
of the darkness where I am scared.
I have no name for what is happening
on the other side of the door.
Cameron Morse lives with his wife Lili and two children in Independence, Missouri. His poems have been published in numerous magazines, including New Letters, Bridge Eight, Portland Review and South Dakota Review. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is Baldy (Spartan Press, 2020). He serves as Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and Poetry editor at Harbor Editions. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.
