At night
He comes
Obese, gray-black
Anger so repressed He is shaking
Below, like Earth’s been doing lately
Quaking
His eyes blank, mouth soft
Head knows nothing of his rage
Below
Trauma can split a person in two like that
So he sits
Heavy
Thinks he’s empty
Squashed
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”
Though
It is my voice I hear
Obese and gray-black
ariaphoenix 