The ghosts I choose

by | Feb 7, 2022 | Issue Twenty Five, Poetry

You were a lighthouse like Antigone.  Coins pressed soft on each of her brothers’ eyelids.  Protecting baby-boy from the bloody shock of his own bones.  Like medusa burying a snake from her head, you wrapped him like an umbilical chord.  To bury in the dirt, or under the sink in that Hells’ kitchen playground cemetery.  I learned to bake cakes in the dark.  I was terrified of suicide gods and their babies.  Scared I would sit inside their mouths and let them swallow me.  Rebel-rebel, looking for a mom.  I got a carnival ticket to the womb, to the bottom of the sea.  Found an angel to haunt me sweetly.  A potbellied unicorn headed, old New York-Italian basketball coach.  He would criticize my shots from the benches.   

Pin It on Pinterest