Monsters

Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?

—Goethe, The Elf King, put to music by Schubert

Few daylit monsters appear. They hulk
between owls’ swirling wings and treble doves
at dawn. Most nightmares I wander streets
where fog smells like hot licorice.

Sometimes the Elf King’s knifing fingers fasten
my neck. Sometimes the sun craters
into earth; an engorged blister of light
crisps downtown to ash—a mushroom cloud

when I wake reminded I will die.
In boyhood, monsters clawed closets,
their shark-toothed snarls palpable
as my own skin. My teenage years

I never feared ghouls after punching
the bully who called me an afterbirth,
my body Beowulf teaching Grendel.
This didn’t kill my dread. I merely buried

devils under sleep. Closing my eyes
the Elf King’s flaming lids open.

***

Eric Fisher Stone is a poet and writing tutor from Fort Worth, Texas. His poetry publications include two full length collections, The Providence of Grass, published by Chatter House Press in 2018, and Animal Joy, published by WordTech Editions in 2021. His Twitter handle is: @CuteJavelinas and his Facebook author page url is: https://www.facebook.com/EricFisherStone