Storm


I can hear the softest whispers in that small apartment.
On this night, the paper-thin walls scream.

My ears pull into my head,
Her sobs pierce me.

I can hear the rain rolling
Down her pink skin,

Thunder
Seeping from his hands.

Shut the fuck up, he says.

I feel her bruises with my limp ears.
I am the walls,
Watching,
Silent,
Immobilized
Like the concrete they sit on.

She is scared to reveal
The storm’s damage,

Sunglasses and hats,
A painful hello,
Masked with a forced smile.

Fabiola Garcia