The old Rite Aid is now
a haunted house. It instructs
us to feel the silver weight
of fear.
I moved home. I stare into
the gleaming mouth of the
abandoned train tunnel and
see only feathers.
The life that could have been
mine flashes before me over
my morning coffee. She is giving
up an ocean for him.
She holds my slender kitten
in her lap, looks nothing like me.
I gave up the white dress
that skims the floor.
As she walks towards him,
dandelions tremble in her wake,
marvel at the weight
of their own heads.
Are these ghosts?
I crack mine out of
my knuckles while
underwater.
The sound is like nothing
I have ever heard.
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