Today it’s about childhood – to write a poem about something that scared you – or was used to scare you – and which still haunts you.
The Bedroom Door
In the night when I am awakened
by a creak or a thud, my heart still
thumps, thumps, thumps.
We think we get over things.
I am a statue lying on my back,
listening, listening, listening.
Eyes glued to the crack in the door.
My seven year old baby voice
calls out:
is there anybody there?
We don’t get over things.
Not those that go deep to the marrow.
My mother pushes open the door,
I pull the blankets over my face
as she leans over me and breathes
her smokey, Bacardi breath.
I need to get over things.
So now when I lay down to sleep,
the door remains open.
LyndyH 
Children and doors, an excellent way in to childhood fears! I like the use of repetition and onomatopoeia in this poem.
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So powerful and so true, one never forgets impressive childhood memories.
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