when the night the visitors came, we covered our ears. 
our soil hummed & then screamed. 
we mistook their halos for airplanes. in their arms 
they cradled giant teeth. spoke a language full of nails. 
in the morning, i often cut a hole in the sky to let the sun out.
these beings had no use for light; it radiated from their eyes.
we welcomed them as we do all visitors. angels or gods or 
demons or interplanetary birds. we fed them
oatmeal & all laughed like rain. i wished i were them.
opening homes like sweet melons. begged them to stay,
but they departed by turning into grains of rice. to this day
we keep those grains in a little bowl by the door. 

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