Your ghost appears in my doorbell, just like Jacob Marley. It floats from the ceiling cobwebs, emerges out of the bare kitchen bulb. It has no eyes, just dark sockets with even deeper darkness behind. And its mouth opens wide, in a silent moan and groan. That’s when the phone rings and it’s you on the other end of the line. So you’re not dead. Just on another coast. Your ghost hovers over me, listens in on our conversation. It’s not dead either.
About the Poet:
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Soundings East, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, “Leaves On Pages” is available through Amazon.