In the corner of the living room
there was a large leather chair.
The perfect spot for hiding.
Only a child could fit their tiny body
in between it and the wall.
Not even the cleverest of witches
or the hungriest lollipop-waving child-catchers
could spot me behind the castle walls I imagined it to be.
It no longer appears so large;
It’s actually become quite normal-looking.
But not too long ago, I was crouching behind it,
taking my finger nail
and etching my name into the leather.
I was a master carver,
tallying the days
I was held prisoner in the tower.
My parents never looked back there until last week,
too bad I used my real name.