Monster

BD Feil

I know they’re in there, Dad. I just know it.
I can feel them. This I catch as I fall
In behind them, or they fall in ahead of me.
The three of us going in the same direction
But not quite together. The boy explaining,
The father nodding, and me giving space
But too close in pace to escape their words.
The boy trying to place each word just-so
Between the others. But I tell myself
There can’t be any, can’t be any in my closet,
Can there, Dad? He forms each word with care,
As carefully as he places each small foot
In the soft sand stretching ahead of us. 

I listen as the father nods, listen as the words
Imprint on the father’s face as the boy says,
But I just know it, Dad. I know there are monsters,
His head tipped in explanation to
The lapping water,
His hands twisting in a cat’s cradle
Of clarity, his voice working to be heard
Until his father asks, Well, have you seen
Any? Have you seen any monsters?
The boy’s face. The father’s face.
Both their footprints in the sand. The sand smooth
But only ahead of them. Me stepping,
Listening to their prints, to each of their words.
The father not so much hearing as trying
To understand, as trying to make right,
As trying to fix. 

And now both their faces cast down, fixed
Intently on sand, on each other’s words.
And I think it must be respect keeping them walking,
Keeping us all three on pace, the space constant
Between the boy, the father, and me.
No, I haven’t seen any actual
Monsters, but the thing is, Dad, I feel them.
The father silent.
The lapping water.
I know they’re in there, that’s the thing.
And I think, yes, it is respect.
But also worry. The father can’t help
But be worried. Not for monsters—
Oh, we know there are none—
But worried he can’t make right, can’t make smooth
All the stretching sand the boy walks on.
And I want to say from behind, No you can’t,
Though I’m only listening, not really.
Besides, he knows that.
The lapping water.
The cry of a gull far out and above. 

I slow to give them a step, and they slow,
Too, until the father says, Listen.
There are no monsters. Silence. There are no
Such things as monsters. More silence. But you know that.
Then more silence and for a long time after.
The lapping water.
Then the father says, Although, and here
I want to say, Please don’t, or do I blurt it out?
Stop. Don’t say more. But on he stumbles.
Yes, sometimes. Sometimes you can feel them.
But he says this in a hurry,
As if he’s not sure he should, as if
This might be too much for the boy, as if
This might be the one thing his son takes away.
The beach. The sand. The foot prints.
The cry of the gull far out and above.
Not the denial of monsters, not their banishment
And slaying and laying low by this knight-comforter,
This good father trying to smooth the way,
But their awful acknowledgement. Yes, you can
Always feel them. You can always in a way feel them.
And the boy listens a long time in the silence
That curves with the shore.
The lapping water.
The lapping water. 

But it’s clear to me now from where I keep pace
That the boy is worried, worried that his father
Might have gone too far, stumbled too much along
Into truth, and it’s the boy now who will need
To comfort, to be the one to make right,
To fix. Yes, but the monsters, he says,
They’re not really there right, Dad?
Not really? And here I can feel the father’s
Burden lift, feel his gratitude toward his son
For pointing the way across the smooth sand,
And he says, Yes. Then, Or I mean, no.
Then he splits the difference, No, they’re not really
There, but yes, you can feel them. And he hesitates.
At least you think you can. Then more silence. 

And here the boy realizes that this might be
The best he’s going to get, at least so it seems
To me, pulled along as I am behind them,
And he says, Well, I can feel them, that’s all.
Then nothing more. And there’s no sound.
Not the cry of a gull far out and above
Or the lapping water
Or our six spaced feet scuffing the smooth sand.
Until the boy says, under his breath,
But, mostly, I feel like they’re always listening.
And the father nods, and we walk on in silence, mostly.