The Visitor



At night

He comes

Obese, gray-black

Anger so repressed He is shaking

Below, like Earth’s been doing lately


His eyes blank, mouth soft

Head knows nothing of his rage


Trauma can split a person in two like that

So he sits


Thinks he’s empty


A car in a junkyard

Abandoned, forsaken

Crushed flat, fat

Like an overgrown gourd

Bulging, tumorous

At night

He comes

He speaks to me

An untrusting “hello”


It is my voice I hear

Obese and gray-black




Go ahead...tell me...

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