The Night Watcher by Andy Eycott

Standing on the landing 
a shimmer of white cotton 
amidst the grainy haze, 
soft focus 
deep in the quiet Moon hours. 
As I struggle to comprehend 
she peers in,  
head tilting around the doorframe, 
eyes full of care 
drawn by an infant’s slumber. 
The fear in me 
transformed into curiosity. 
I hold my breath, 
she has none to hold, 
my heart pounds. 
In the morning I joke 
about the young woman. 
My partner replies  
that she has seen her, 
that she checks on the kids. 
My partner calmly explains 
that the young woman 
visits often, causes no harm. 
’Oh,’ I say, 
‘So we have a ghost now?’