When I was little,
my grandparents had me completely convinced
that my toys were alive.
Sitting in my bedroom..
they would send me off to the kitchen
for a glass of water
or a peach.
When I returned,
I noticed that several of my toys
had somehow changed positions.
Sitting on the edge of my bed,
my Hungarian grandfather would point
to my bookshelf..
Sounding exactly like Bela Lugosi..
he would say, in a strangely dark and ominous tone
“Look, Michele.. the toys. They move.”