Soucouyant

An amorphous black blob sits.

Just at the corner of my eye, it

moves and breathes.

Occasional jerk and

eerie gait;

I wonder whose life it’ll take.

By day, a woman

bent over her sink

inspecting the holes in her skin.

A thorough bath, 

a black sheet to dry herself,

and here we are again.

At night, again,

the amorphous blob sits.

And at the corner of my eye, it

moves and breathes.