The Visitor
I.
A potted plant, full of cigarettes.
My mania wanes
to a paralyzing hum.
The grounds thrice-steeped.
My misery keeps
time by euphoria rupture.
A wall meets my fist.
My memory splits
into stars, below the horizon.
Air ages in rooms.
My mouth, it wilts
into silence, a howl unheard.
II.
You show up bleeding,
your hands full of tea, asking:
Is your head the cage
or the captive, today?
You are so bright, I avert
my eyes.
You write a poem on the wall
and bite my hand. Let’s go!
We walk the mile to Johnny’s
to find you only wanted
a single peach.
You forgot your shoes. They made you wait
outside, with the dogs.
We pour hot water over your tea.
Chrysanthemum, grown on a mountain
you took acid on. your knees won’t stop bleeding
on my bedsheets.
You draw a perched raven on my thigh, tell me
it’s going to be alright.
What am I supposed to
be telling you?
I wake up alone
to a house full of flowers
in the steam.
You have gone, and all the dishes are
still piled in the sink.
Avery Lane is a poet based in Tucson, Arizona. Her poems have appeared in Trial and Error Collective zine and The Reading Series zine. Other than poetry, she is into philosophy, music, switching careers with little warning, and walking (with or without a particular destination).