Oct 13, 2018 1 min read

A house not so much haunted as haunting

A house not so much haunted as haunting
Photo by Nathan Wright / Unsplash
Three pieces from a few years past. It was a dark time. No I don't want to talk more about that, thank you.

no gods

No spirit, no god
no power in this or any world
can give me what I want:
a problem no one can solve,
a petition whose answer must always be no.
Now I understand
that stony soil,
those terrible choices:
a desperate person will
any chance
any deal

But that was just fiction.
I shouted into the void,
offered service
and got no answer.
No one
and nothing

a haunting

Our house is not so much haunted
as haunting:
the ghost of our home looming behind me,
settled heavy on my shoulders,
not a presence but an absence,
a lack like a missing limb.
I moved into the other room,
put away our photographs –
I need to change our passwords, I need to do so much –
a million things to avoid the flinch:
the fleeting, searing touch
of hope all of this was just a dream,
a terrible mistake the universe will realize
and I will wake to find you in my arms.


You are carved into my bones,
a space worn for you there where
you should be living.
Our angles fit together like
an organic puzzle,

But now.

You smoothed over my rough edges,
made a space for tender meat where
only sharp bones thrived.
Our hearts pound together like
a sinew snare,

And now.

Now I am all sharp edges,
broken bone and thorns and
razor-edged replies.
Our hands stretch across the gap,
desperate fingers,

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