The Visit – by Paula Camacho
visits like seasons
that come and go for a few days.
After you return to your life elsewhere
the ghost of
your shadow haunts my days
and I expect you to appear
from the permanent room your
grandfather built for you in our home.
Your clothes no longer scattered over the den,
your small suitcase gone from its square residence
on the floor.
Now so facetious from the youth you once were
not one speck remains, your sheets washed,
the wastebasket emptied, the bathroom clean.
You have taken your total self with you
and I am left to look for the next season
of your presence.