After the movie

I see you nightly at my bed,
Ghost-faced. You never look
The same. I cannot reach you and
You have no hands, instead
you touch me coldly with an iron hook.

You've come to rip me up and turn
my insides out and tear my heart to shreds.
You've come to eat.

I know

Since we're apart each night
You'll come to slaughter me and smile
At me in greed. I'll learn how to expect
the pain of torture and my insane death,

But not

How it's inflicted this time or next
Or where to look, or when
You will appear. You never seem
The same.

It's that.
Not just the pain I fear.

Stella Trevin
1994