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He Comes At Night
Ronnie Sirmans
About the Author
Ronnie Sirmans is an Atlanta-based digital platforms editor whose poetry has appeared in The Georgia Review, Plainsongs, Journal of the American Medical Association, Impossible Archetype, OutWrite Journal, The Crawfish, and elsewhere.
https://www.instagram.com/ronsirmans/
HE COMES AT NIGHT
I am not human, the vamp said.
I am no mere mortal, I replied.
(I lied.) Could he hear my heart
tap-tap-dancing against my ribs?
Could he sense my faint breath
bated with such debauched dread
on this night? I had no crucifix,
just my useless crosses to bear.
I’m never quick enough to drive
in a stake. No sunshine peeks in
at nighttime, and the moon has
hardly ever ever burned anyone.
I called him my husband’s name
and he froze. Love? Hate? Fear?
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