Hiding Places

Phillip Brown

I crouch down
beside the blankets
piled in the corner
of the stairs,
strung up at one end
to the railing.

I poke my head in.
“shh, i’m hiding,”
a small voice whispers.

My five-year old brother
is curled up, hugging
a stuffed elephant named freddy.
his tent is warm and
dark–but not too dark,

and smells like apples, grass,
and the cedar chest
the blankets sleep in.
it feels safe, simple, and quiet.

I leave him alone
to play and
share secrets with freddy.

I sneak to my room
and close the door-
“shh, I’m hiding.”