Tag Archives: ghosts

Another Ghost Story

This is how I haunt myself: with creaking floorboards and rustling curtains in a house gone silent; with lights flickering in broken windows against a moonless sky; with laughter and sobbing and anger and joy in a space that has not known the warmth of life in years.

This is how I haunt myself: with superstition and ritual, asking cold entrails in an empty room if a ghost still loves me.

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Phantosmia

She glided in ethereal
A mixture of Memory
(You look like) Wheat
(You sound like) Music
(You smell like) Rose

But Memory never smelled like Rose
Rose smelled like something earlier
Soap amongst steel
Milk and honey in the desert
Sackcloth and ashes
A head shorn of sorrow
Rose smelled like something new
As surely as it smelled like something old

(Your scent is alive)
(You are no ghost)
(You were never never there)


The Meadows

This town is neon nights and DayGlo

Memories, ghosts shuddershivering

In the dark, faceless women in

White dresses with their feet floating

Inches off of the ground

 

The color in her cheeks gets brighter

The more the story’s told, her tongue

Sharper, highs higher and

Lows lower until we’re so lit

The world has gone black

 

I tell you, she had a body like a wet dream,

A laugh so sweet it killed you a little

 

I tell you, she had fangs that dripped poison

And eyes that glowed red as blood


Living with Ghosts

This poem is a tritina, a form inspired by the sestina (which is an absurdly complex form.) I intended for this piece to be a companion to “How to Haunt a House,” which I wrote for NaPoWriMo two years ago (almost to the day, in fact!) I thought, “Hey, that was a sestina, this one can be a tritina, the forms are linked, the subject matter is related, and so forth. I’m so clever!”

Except “How to Haunt a House” was actually a pantoum, not a sestina. I wrote a few sestinas back in my grad school days (I believe one of them was about zombies? Or cannibalism? Something about flesh-eating, at any rate,) but there are actually none on this blog.

Whoops.

Anyway, please enjoy this tritina!

I felt your touch on my mind this morning,

Your fingers running down my cheek, gentle

And sweet and loving. Then the claws came out.

 

Walk the streets. This city is something out

Of a nightmare pop-up book. The morning

Can’t dispel the dream, the sun too gentle.

 

Same old memories, echoes as gentle

As a sledgehammer to the face. Out, out,

Damned spot. Let me be done with my mourning.

 

You were the more gentle by far, creature of the morning, out and apart and above. I haunt myself.


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