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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4023 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Ghosts Lauriette (Laurie Byro) Tiger lilies guard the path where we used to meet. After we stopped, I couldn’t write of it. I thought to confess would break the spell. Sometimes in the rain, on a hot August night, I park my car there, sit wondering if any part of it still exists. The tapping of branches on my window could be you, summoning me. I take my fingers out of my jeans, roll down the window, feel the spray of rain. These woods are haunted, I know. Skulls of animals, feathers and teeth make me want to paint symbols on my breasts. You would wash them off. Mark me in your own way. You mocked my totems, even as my fetish necklace swayed back and forth to the heat of us. I am not your corn-goddess or anything more than the whore that you could call lover. When you told me those things, wove lilies through my braided hair, you were already deep inside another. Ghosts don’t exist you told me, laughing when I heard their footsteps interrupt our ceremony. Two years later, I would tell you, you are wrong. They were us. Spooking each other, foreshadowing the death of us, by becoming too real. |
