The Visitant

The minute ghost – its visit now 
ended: I blinked and it was gone. 

Now I miss it. I had gotten 
used to it, see – the transparent
presence, the sea-glass cold,

overlooking. It said something 
about returning near the end – 
Is the end near? Not yet. 

How slick its exit, locking 
the keyhole while we were not 
looking. I remember: 

at first, it inserted itself 
violent in our lives – it kicked, 
it kicked. It had to. It had to

make a room of its own, pour all
of the universe into this 
dream via needle hole. It pushed. 

It pushed. I inflated. 

Now departed, a photographic
flash. A hole of light where it once 
was. How effortless its glide 

out of our lives. It did not 
leave a card. 

Lorelei Bacht (she/they) is currently on hiatus somewhere in the monsoon forest. Her recent writing has appeared and/or is forthcoming in Feral, Anti-Heroin Chic, Abridged, Odd Magazine, PROEM, SWWIM, Strukturriss, The Inflectionist Review, Hecate, among others. Follow them on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and Twitter @bachtlorelei

Artwork by Myriam Louise Taleb