38

Night, and the children have gone.

Abbas snores on his cot.

The Voiceless has come and he waits

At my door. He has traveled from deserts

With sand in his shoes. Mouth

With the motionless lips and the question

That cannot be asked. Standing, he waits

In the night, in the dark, and he smiles

With a terrible grin. From my window,

I look at him, dim in the lamplight,

And dimly he grins at me.

Caught in our mutual stare,

He throws stones at my house,

Rolls his eyes back and forth,

Gestures to open my door.

I refuse.

He continues to grin,

Hours pass.

With the dawning, the Voiceless departs,

And returns to the desert, his unspeaking

Mouth, but he leaves a dark mist

In the bloom of my house, he leaves

Sand at the base of my door.