She slipped through the back door

Sliver of silver moon over Petralia Soprana, Sicily, Italy
She slipped in through the back door

In the dark night, only the tiniest 
light from the sliver of silver moon, 
she tiptoes inside, careful
not to let the screen door clap closed
behind her. She moves like 
slow sliding slippers across the tile
kitchen floor, pulls her way up
the ladder of stone stairs, into your
room at the end of the hallway, with its
walls painted in pictures of serious 
and smiling children. She inches her way
into your bed, like a caterpillar
crawling and settles beside you, silent
except for the soft sound of her breath like
morning dew on the strawberries out
in the garden. When you wake, you sense
her presence lingering there, having almost
forgotten what she feels like.

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