black and white photo: @jseigar
submit to south broadway ghost society.
Category: ghost #3
poem #3 – ghost #3
In the morning I forget the feeling of your hands.
I forget the movement of our bodies together and instead dance from empty room to empty room.
Here I wander, wishing for shutters to bang, for rattling chains.
In my house we are all ghosts.
photo: @nate_dumlao
poem #2 – ghost #3
I gave my tongue to you
Loud and silent
Curled between your teeth
It was too much or not enough
My tongue does not tell the stories of your past
Only what is possible
It is just a muscle
Like my heart
Made to expand and contract
poem #1 – ghost #3
When you left the clocks stopped working.
Their hands, my hands, they all forgot to move. I fell asleep to the last of your scent on my pillow and awoke months later in a new season.
I do not recognize the landscape here and all of the trees have changed.
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