The night is yours

You, Amani, are “it.”

So you squeeze your eyes tight and count to ten.

I get a glimpse of your friends

running toward the trees and bushes.

You all giggle the quietest of giggles.

But I can still hear those giggles all the way up here.

One by one, your friends find

porch staircases to hide behind,

bushes to crouch between,

and piles of leaves that were just

raked up this morning.

The night is an extension of your skin,

all of you children,

blending in when you want it to

and popping out when you want it to,

because the darkness of the night is yours

like the darkness of your skin.