The Other – Poem by Caro Henry

A haunting portrait of loneliness, where silence becomes a shadow in a crowded room.

In The Other by Caro Henry, a figure drifts unheard through laughter and light, folding smaller with each day into the fragile shape of loneliness.

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The room buzzes with people,
laughter bubbling up like water about to boil over.
There she is—practically a ghost—tucked away in that corner.
Everyone else basks in each other's warmth,
yet somehow, that light never quite reaches her.

The silence weighs on her—man, it's suffocating—
wrapped around her shoulders like some heavy old coat.
Conversations swirl around, smoke-like,
always slipping through her fingers when she tries to grab hold.
They're all chatting about dreams, bright futures, and whatnot,
but her own quiet thoughts? Lost.
Just echoes bouncing off canyon walls
in a place she doesn't belong.

She can't help but watch them—
how they move so easily,
smiles opening up like those first spring flowers,
while she's just... there.
Frozen.
A tree in winter,
stripped bare, desperately waiting
for something to warm her frozen roots.

"You're not like us,"
they don't even need to say it out loud.
Their eyes just slide right past her,
like she's nothing but wall art—
pretty enough to hang, but never meant to be touched.
Her heart flutters with this ache,
this need to dissolve into their easy laughter,
to feel what it's like to move with their joy.
But she's stuck here, chained to this feeling of not belonging,
just some outsider with her nose pressed against the glass,
looking in at a party she wasn't really invited to.

The mirror shows her someone she barely recognizes—
a familiar face, sure, but something's off.
Colors faded, edges smudged by the crushing weight of
knowing,
she's just... different.
The air between her and everyone else
crackles with all the stuff nobody says,
that hollow ache of spaces she can't seem to fill.

At night, she dreams of dancing with stars,
but morning comes, and she's back to folding herself smaller,
a fragile paper creation of loneliness,
wondering if there'll ever be a day
when she finds where she fits,
or if this is just it—
always the passing shadow,
just a whisper lost in a noisy room.

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✍️ About the Authors

Caro Henry, a Caribbean American and the award-winning author of The Edges and Immigrant Dreams is naturally connected to the rhythmic soul of the Caribbean. The soulful beats of the islands, the harmonious tunes of reggae music, and the colorful tapestry of the native patois of her birthland, Jamaica, and the Cayman Islands influenced her upbringing.

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