The air darkens, revealing what it has always contained. Ancestors rub their eyes, nod to the neighbors, sweep the clouds aside for the moon. I pull out my embarrassingly thick glasses from my pocketbook, put the pill that helps me see both past and future between my lips. Cough it down.
A child who still believes in the invisible pokes her head through my window. She is swimming in shadow. Her mother thought it might be her grandmother's ghost and took her to the fortune-teller’s. The church. What follows her grew until the day she opened her mouth and all twenty-one grams of her soul dropped out.
I am her welcoming committee. I will tell her the story of what her life should have been.
This is light on ghost, but the exercise was a fun, quick writing practice. Thanks, Meg!
The Ghost of Great Aunt Edith Cleans Out a Closet
Who needs brown anything? My darling grand niece, what could you possibly flaunt, possibly flash to the world that you are my niece, that my flair lives on in this closet so full of embarrassingly plain pants and silly pocketbooks, shirts and thick shoes? This tracksuit, this jumper, these plastic hangers, too. Oh, gracious, no, toss it all away! My silken soul might die another death, might hang mortified from this shelf. Why must you reach for white when race car reds rumble in our blood, when a pillbox of sparkle was left at your feet?
Who Will Tell the Storyteller a Story?
The air darkens, revealing what it has always contained. Ancestors rub their eyes, nod to the neighbors, sweep the clouds aside for the moon. I pull out my embarrassingly thick glasses from my pocketbook, put the pill that helps me see both past and future between my lips. Cough it down.
A child who still believes in the invisible pokes her head through my window. She is swimming in shadow. Her mother thought it might be her grandmother's ghost and took her to the fortune-teller’s. The church. What follows her grew until the day she opened her mouth and all twenty-one grams of her soul dropped out.
I am her welcoming committee. I will tell her the story of what her life should have been.
This is light on ghost, but the exercise was a fun, quick writing practice. Thanks, Meg!
The Ghost of Great Aunt Edith Cleans Out a Closet
Who needs brown anything? My darling grand niece, what could you possibly flaunt, possibly flash to the world that you are my niece, that my flair lives on in this closet so full of embarrassingly plain pants and silly pocketbooks, shirts and thick shoes? This tracksuit, this jumper, these plastic hangers, too. Oh, gracious, no, toss it all away! My silken soul might die another death, might hang mortified from this shelf. Why must you reach for white when race car reds rumble in our blood, when a pillbox of sparkle was left at your feet?