THESE FOOTPRINTS

Outside on a fall morning, a cool, breezy day, clouds drifting,

Working in the garden next to our bedroom window, I stopped.

My husband, along with our son, lives here peacefully in this home,

Just now, where I was planting, I noticed a fresh set of footprints.

Boots of a large person, a chill up my spine as there was somebody here,

The thought of sleeping in our bed and a stranger outside our window.

My husband didn’t think much of it, saying that I was only paranoid,

I couldn’t stop thinking about it as I lay awake the next night looking
At the window.

I checked the next morning; the footprints were gone. What happened to them,

I walked around the yard; nothing. There, under the kitchen window,
the same footprints.

The police, my husband, no one was listening to me. Who was doing this to me?

That night I went into the garage, looking for my suitcase. Behind it, I
Could not believe,

A dirty pair of boots. I went to turn; he was there, a glare in his eyes,
A knife in his hand,

                     MY HUSBAND!

                          Keith Garrett