The speaker is hiding in plain sight. She lies in bed listening to a drunk man stumble through the house, and she covers her eyes but leaves her ears open, because hearing him coming is the only warning she gets. Every small sound, like the squeak of a bumped table, lands as a shock. Her body reacts before she can think: she winces, chokes down a sob, forgets to breathe.
The italicised-feeling middle stanza gives us his muttered insults, each one beginning "stupid woman," which makes his anger sound cold and repetitive. When he reaches her door, she fakes sleep, and the air seems to thicken around her. His final words, "my chiquita, dreaming so peacefully," are the most unsettling. They sound tender, but they depend on her pretending, and the poem suggests she must keep doing so to stay safe. The mood is tense, suffocating, and quietly terrifying.