Leveler Poetry Journal
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Visitation

 

The first time it happened was Day 2 of the hurricane.

I listened to the wind. It was filled with screams.

 

I crawled into bed calculating the distance

Between our house and the tree across the street.

 

I pulled the blanket to my neck, fingers curled over the edge,

But they weren’t my own.

 

My husband was asleep and I was alone

With one of them.

 

My head was in its mouth.

Hot and cold and black.

 

I kept my eyes open.

Its body swayed.

 

It became a kind of sleep,

The inside of the spirit.

 

It was a boat.

We rode the whole dark north.

 

The moon lit up the water

And I could see the curve

 

Of the glacier hooked to the sky.

Then the moon was gone and I held still.

 

In the morning I looked outside

And New York was underwater.




Hila Ratzabi