From Great Showtunes of the American Stage: 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
Posted on: Fri, 20 Sep 2013 18:43:56 +0000
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