The Visitor

by Abner Dormiendo

The dog chained near the gates
Of your house bark the same tune
Regardless of the visitor, or
Intruder, as you sometimes dread.
So that afternoon, while you sit
In your sofa, half-dazed, your dog
Calls: visitor, whose name
I cannot pronounce. All the same
When you see his face — the taste
Of the familiar washes over you
Like heat slowly making its way
Through your home. Can I come in,
He asks, it is me, a name
Your tongue once knows
How to roll properly, but
The memories never piece itself
Together to form syllables to which
You can name this apparition. He must be
Somewhere in the gardens
Of your mind, underneath
The overgrowth. A name like
Grass, or croaking frogs
In rain puddles. And the dog
Barking never helps at all.

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