February 11, 2017


There comes a point when ghosts
stop being instructive. You’ve
memorized all their songs, walked
down all their rut-worn paths,
plucked away the gravel that sticks
to the bottoms of your shoes. You’ve
licked the bones clean of meat and
buried them back in the yard,
plantedasphodels on top of them
and given your shovel away. Back in
the house, every now and again, you
hear the faint howl of chains in
the attic, the whisper down the
damp on your neck—and maybe
there’s a part of you that wants
to turn back, grab the flashlight
off the table and go out searching
in the dark—but what’s alive in you
knows there is nothing left to find.
You let out one lone howl, to tell
your ghosts you won’t forget, and
then you go back to what you were
doing before they came around.

Comments are closed.

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: