Ghosting myself is powerful and the poem as a whole is heartbreaking. The self-checkout lane is terrible and perfect. I wonder if there are images as strong as that line and ghosting myself for ghost and invisible.
Thank you so much Meg! I love how this prompt was open to either micro story or a poem, I have been trying to get back into writing poetry, I had taken a break for quite a while as I have been focusing of flash and short stories, this is just what I needed 😊
While I look up at our old house, I imagine the rooms as they once were: crystal doorknobs, raised roses climbing painted walls, sun pouring through windows that let in the ghost. I go inside. Whatever haunted me is silent now. Where did it go? I never got an answer, although I called out through the years of nights. But now the air flutters with wings. Something is whispering words I can’t bear to hear.
After
I am
one wasp wing
fog
sunlight in a wood
loose white thread on your shirt
ant on the kitchen counter
sliver of soap
a day in February
ever since the crow
landed on our roof
and your heart
flew off in its mouth
this is stunning. Yes, that ending!
Thanks, Meg!
Wowza! Amazing— that ending! 🔥
Thank you, Guy!
Becoming a ghost through ghosting myself
I once was invisible
I once was a ghost
I wondered if I spoke
Would sound leave my mouth?
Living alone for years,
Days on end pass with
Not a word spoken,
Not another human seen.
I go to a store,
Using the self-checkout lane,
Not even a human at a register
To notice my existence.
If I even exist anymore
At all.
Well done! The feeling isolation is palpable.
Ghosting myself is powerful and the poem as a whole is heartbreaking. The self-checkout lane is terrible and perfect. I wonder if there are images as strong as that line and ghosting myself for ghost and invisible.
Thanks.
Pamela this is remarkable, beautiful and tragic all at once. I echo Sherri’s statement, the self-checkout lane hooks you at the end. Wonderful ✨
Thank you, too!
You Wonder
Why has nothing grown?
Where are the orchards,
The stalks blazing gold?
Not why a good tree yields bad fruit
—but no fruit.
I’ve endured rain, teasing sun,
Beds of moldy straw,
Even roadsigns I’ve placed
professing I’m ready to give everything
Haven’t earned a glance.
I stand
Arms spread east to west
Mouth and eyes wading in silence
Waiting for a breeze, a draft,
As one crow lands next to another.
This is sad and lovely Guy. Deserves a scarecrow photo accompaniment. So visual, this piece. x
Thank you so much Meg! I love how this prompt was open to either micro story or a poem, I have been trying to get back into writing poetry, I had taken a break for quite a while as I have been focusing of flash and short stories, this is just what I needed 😊
Haunting. And somehow of this moment. I'm reading Antidote right now and a scarecrow is a character in the novel.
Awesome! Thank you Sherri!
Scarecrows are inherently lonely figures. Even the crows ignore them.
Love that you caught that— thank you for reading Pamela! 🙏🏼
Visit
While I look up at our old house, I imagine the rooms as they once were: crystal doorknobs, raised roses climbing painted walls, sun pouring through windows that let in the ghost. I go inside. Whatever haunted me is silent now. Where did it go? I never got an answer, although I called out through the years of nights. But now the air flutters with wings. Something is whispering words I can’t bear to hear.