You can’t joke with an anxious child

They’re prone to take everything seriously

To the person who told me when I was only eight

That if a plane crashed into our classroom

It would kill us all instantly

Do you know that my chest still tightens

Anytime I hear the low whir

Of an airplane passing over?

I know my mother meant no harm

When I crawled into the empty supermarket shelf

She urged me to get out quickly

Before someone comes along and tries to buy me

I wonder if she knows I still prefer

Grocery store aisles with nobody in them

So no one can get the wrong idea

At summer camp, we gathered around

The bunks at half past midnight

Telling the spookiest stories we knew

Someone mentioned a maniac living in the woods

Sneaking in at night and watching us sleep

We all laughed, but I tossed and turned all night

Even now, the smallest bump in the dark

Makes my breathing stop

And my eyes fly open

I should be able to let these things go

Childhood superstitions mean nothing at all

You are a grown woman

Confident and mature

I repeat to myself

But I don’t believe it

Inside I am still that anxious child

Who can’t take a joke