I was afraid to close my eyes,

scared He’d get me in bed—

my thin body covered

by a sheet with Peanuts characters.

Every night I’d scream, but no one

ever came, until I wondered

if I was making any noise at all—

my throat raw with disappointment.

God watched me for months—

eyes two pinpricks of light—glaring

down from the ceiling’s light fixture.

When I finally told him,

my father waited until dark,

turned out the lights,

and tracked the eyes to their source­—

a reflection cast by my nightlight.

Did my father fix it out of love?

Or was he worried God

would see what he was doing?