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The Visitor

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In Spanish he whispers there is no time left.
It is the sound of scythes arcing in wheat,
the ache of some field song in Salvador.
The wind along the prison, cautious
as Francisco’s hands on the inside, touching
the walls as he walks, it is his wife’s breath
slipping into his cell each night while he
imagines his hand to be hers. It is a small country.

There is nothing one man will not do to another.

Carolyn Forche, “The Visitor” from The Country Between Us, published by Copper Canyon Press. Copyright © 1981 by Carolyn Forché. Reprinted by permission of the William Morris Agency, LLC.
Source: The Country Between Us (Copper Canyon Press, 1981)
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The Visitor

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