FLORA SMITH

His Case Worker

She cannot read him now, she must surmise
tease out a path through tangled thread
to find the world he keeps behind his eyes.

Lacking syllables and sentences, he tries
to push on through frustration; tears are bled.
She cannot read him now, she must surmise.

Darker scraps of speech arrive; surprise
her midnights, gift a glimpse of roads ahead
to find the world he keeps behind his eyes.
One day she sees him driven mad by flies
and reworks jigsaw pieces in her head.
She hopes to read him now: she must surmise.

Time allows, as anger surfaces and dies,
for healing and reflection twined instead
to find the world he keeps behind his eyes.

He witnessed it: he does not dramatize
their killing of his village by the riverbed.
She reads him now: no longer must surmise
to find the world he keeps behind his eyes.