The old woman who said,
The light is just as blinding as the dark,
wore thick, milky cataracts.
She claimed she could see the dead
who rode upon my back like howler monkeys.
The soul is stuck with you,
just as you are stuck with it,
she said to me as I stood before her park bench.
Her left hand clutched and squeezed a foam stress-doll
and the Laughing Jesus repeatedly inflated and sighed upon release.
A cloud passed over us and shaded us from the sun.
Her eyes cleared and her stare pierced.
She said, I sincerely doubt you are fully human.
I woofed three times to reveal my inner dog.
I mimicked like a magpie outside the preacher’s window.
I go silent as a field mouse stranded in a feral cat’s twilight shadow.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney