Strangers Camp in the Mind

They check the locks
and install cameras,
hoping to catch the crafty villains
that plague their life like a mysterious virus.

They call crying hysterical,
say it happened again while they slept.
Messed with. Nothing on the cameras.
No evidence.
But they've never been more sure.
Hands on them.
Footsteps in the middle of the night
that don't belong to the house.
It's a dark cult
that's been trailing them for years, they say, wild-eyed.
An abyss of confusion.

I acquiesce, ask questions,
think to myself, this sounds impossible,
but I nod, because not nodding costs too much.
They scribble notes, build timelines,
stack their case, like a scene at a mad tea party.

One day, it's the keys.
They're missing.
And then found.
Swear someone stole them.
And then added this mysterious symbol
to the ring.

I hold them in my hand.
Same scratches.
They look identical.
To how they always looked.

But then they glance at me.
And those eyes cut through.
Like I'm part of it now.

Now they carry a mysterious illness.
And I'm not saying they don't,
but all the research that fits their agenda
insists a move out west to Utah
or Nevada would cure things.
Anywhere with more sunshine.

Pack the kids in the car,
like it’s a harmless field trip,
like geography can chase away ghosts.

And I try, I really do.
Patience like a prayer,
thinking until my brain bruises.
Because they're not stupid, not even close,
which makes it worse.
Sometimes I think it's all planned.
They know exactly what they're doing,
that it's a game with rules
that I never learned,
and the kids are just along for the ride.

I hope one day
the sunlight reaches their mind.