The Newcomer

I heard her sobbing through an open window,
blowing her nose. She must have stayed there
close to ten minutes, her sobs dying as she began
the steady chant sotto voce, I have to go, I have to go,
I promised, he'll ask what happened, I have to go.
Then she pushed open the old door the smallest crack,

so narrow the squeak we laugh at every week

hushed its welcome. I smelled her as she sat

beside me. Well, I smelled the apple fritters
she'd eaten recently. You don't think you could tell?

Maybe not. But you'll have to remember,

I earned a Ph.D. in all things apple fritter.

She'd dried her eyes but the redness, the puffs,

her splotched neck all told of the turmoil,
the embarrassment, the fear. She sat down

and as she did passed gas. I remember that...

not being able to move without the sound,

the smell. She sat and broke wind again

and none of us stopped our conversations,

we ignored it and welcomed her. She never spoke,

just shook her head when asked her name.

She would have bolted at the end but I grabbed

her icy hand and held it for the prayer.

I pulled out my picture, showing me bulldozer big

and told her, Welcome Home.