Delusion, the Visitor

The mailman rings. Two knocks.

If her voice screams and no one hears,

does it make a sound?

Fists pound the Berber weaves,

muting all but the creak

of hardwood floors, caught

below the second story

windows closed.

—She hugs her chest and sways.  In shadow,

a mother rocks her baby boy,

crawls through empty halls,

screens her phone calls.

The mailman rings. Two knocks, waits.

Then, at the gate, a pause.

Was that a moan?  Looks back

to the potted plants, the screen door.

Must be thunder in the clouds

though the sun pours down and the grass is dry.

Benay wrote these poems while she was a senior at Georgetown University.