Hillary Leftwich

Ghosts are Just Strangers that Know How to Knock

This becomes about someone else. Someone who sat you on their lap, held you in place. The sun pins itself in the sky, abandons you at night. If it weren’t for morning you would stay on the floor. There is a cold spot in your bed where no one sleeps. Hunger is more than sustenance, why feed yourself? It’s safer to count stars than people. There’s a stranger outside the door you never let in. They leave you notes with one word: salvation, desire, hope. You burn them, watch as the birds freeze in flight. You want to believe in omens. The warm spot in your chest as something more. An empty bottle. Blow inside and make a wish. A ghost is just another lover that’s forgotten your bed. The place where their head rested on heart and flesh. You know the stars are dying. Make a wish. When the stranger knocks, answer. This is how you find what’s been lost.

No comments:

Post a Comment

The views and opinions expressed throughout belong to the individual artists and may or may not coincide with those of the other artists (or editors) represented within the magazine. Hobo Camp Review supports a free-for-all atmosphere of artistic expression, so enjoy the poetry, fiction, opinions, and artwork within, read with an open mind, and comment wisely. Thanks for stopping by the Camp!