the elephant man

Kamila Zguzi
Jul 23, 2017 · 2 min read

I got on the bus to work
only a few stops
nothing big
trees and birds outside
people; nature’s traffic
a day on which no one would notice if
you’d die or fall in love
as those two situations
form the same curse

he got in on the third stop
the elephant man
his face disfigured, squeezed and
tortured
god or devil’s play
probably ours
right eye displaced and sunken
into layers of skin
like an olive drowned in water
pink and tender swollen parts
of what used to be a nose
cuts
coming out from underneath his chin
a pelican’s sack
hanging down his neck
filled with blood & milk
mouth curved up and down, twisted
half open
the remains of blue stitches sticking out
their roots

boy dangling his feet eating raising on his
seat
builder smeared with paint and sweat
staring
me breathing

the left side of his face untouched by the
catastrophe
the hurricane that swept away his
features in one breath
like dust from the shelf
he got off the bus pacing himself
I was walking behind
his kind eyes and
calm figure
behind the
gentleness of his moves and the left
hand
that was missing fingers half-way

so I thought to myself
about the grace that lives in his body
quiet sweetness
of the strength that he carried
beautiful man

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

Kamila Zguzi

Written by

I write when I feel, which is pretty much all the time.

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

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