Kenneth C. Steven
Visiting Hour
Even the grass and the trees seen sick,
Afraid of what might happen around the next
Corner. Corridors smell of shouting and tears,
The windows are huge opportunities
For suicide.
You listen constantly for silence,
Your eyes always looking for trouble,
The long miles inside your mind
Sleepless with ghosts. I talk in small pieces
About home, Yugoslavia, summer,
The amazing speed of years,
And want away out of this place’s illness.
I go gratefully, glad to reach
The wide blue skies of the world outside,
Clutching at the wild, mad hope that you will leave
The other self that haunts you here behind -
Its terrible, leprous hide -
Break into the beautiful, smooth skin of childhood
And come back home.
Page(s) 125
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