Catherine Heath
July 2018
Hunting for ghosts––
Not what I expected to find.
The ouija board speaks:
Little girls in dreams
(A phantom,
You said.)
Mouldering basement;
Discarded magazines
For vintage wives.
The lives we’ve wasted––
Innumerable.
Pieces of a puzzle
Scattered over time
And space
Delicately return to place.
The truth is dazzling––
We wish for it, and rue it too.
Truth cuts deep and
Releases pain––
It’s hard to describe––
And yet we always know it.
You can’t break what’s not broken;
And the seeds we’ve sown
Bursting into flower––
In times of grief,
The loamy soil
Fertilises hatred,
Pain and fear––
So it’s beautiful once more,
And what is it all for?
Voices echo in the darkness––
Who speaks?
Who hides?
Keeping your friends close
Never rang so true.
Credit: Photo by rayul on Unsplash
