Eyes Wide Open

I can still see her,
two years old
beneath the kitchen table,
chubby hands clamped
tightly over eyes.
If she couldn't see us
then we must not see her.

So often I find myself
under the kitchen table of my mind,
eyes squeezed shut,
hands over ears.
If I pretend it isn't there,
than maybe, eventually,
it just won't be.

But I'm discovering,
growing up,
is crawling out
from under the kitchen table.
Being brave,
is living with

Eyes Wide Open.