Pg. 73
Poetry by Vali Hawkins-Mitchell
The Visitant
The child dangled
bare feet
in the Koi pond.
Lily pads floated
like her nightmares
on dark water and
she hoped it was
the speckled beauties
that nibbled on her toes.
She knew toes were real,
that fish were real.
And she waited,
waited to see
if the presence
would return.
But no presence came.
The woman
fitfully rocked
in her chair on
the porch,
scarcely noted
the scent of
briny kelp,
or tides,
or boats
that skimmed
like seabirds over
shadowed waters,
concentrated on
familiar sounds
as balm, wooden
rocker rails
that creaked,
safe noises,
her noises,
and waited,
waited for
the presence
to return.
But no presence came.
The old lady sat
on the unmade
bed, forced herself
to stay awake,
shaded her eyes from
the florescent lights,
counted every
erratic flicker
like it was
her own errant
heartbeat,
clung to her
solitary vigil,
watched her
memories evaporate
like clouds in
an endless sky,
and still waited,
waited for
the presence
to return.
And then It did.
Vali Hawkins-Mitchell
Vali Hawkins Mitchell, PhD, LMHC, REAT, is an author who lives in Honolulu, Hawaii across the street from the zoo. She has her first cuppa coffee while listening to animal voices, and then goes to work where she co-owns a company as a Licensed Trauma Specialist and Business Consultant responding to local, national and international disasters. She is well-published across genres and recently included in issues of Blink-Inc and Star82Review. You can find her books and projects on amazon.com or her website.