Haunt
It’s a common story, me
circling the Union at Stanford, flipping through a paper
sighs pouring from the buildings like black coffee then
Echoing archways near the fountain
meaningless to anybody else but
there you are
Rollerblading by in your little black dress as I
pop you into my camera for Christmas
Ghosts are meant to be cursed
but I have learned to hold my tongue –
you have this habit of bestowing your features on
leading ladies, jewelry shop clerks
high school girls on beaches
I’m sure they’ve spotted my mystified gaze
tossed over my shoulder like a blue scarf at their
shifting triangle smiles, apple-cider eyes
white chocolate dimples, high-wire curls
Come back when you like, shade of my heart
haunt me, shake me, draw me out
no need to call ahead
because these days
when the words pour out of me like silvered breath
I couldn’t bear any less
I look up from the page to find you
framed by the window in a halo of fireflies
a Russian princess in a dark coat
and then, you come in
and sit at my table
First published in Mystic
River Review
From the collection Great Showtunes of the American Stage
Photo by MJV
No comments:
Post a Comment