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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3820 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Lying in My Bed I Write a Ghost Story Laurie Byro I think of us as ghosts, the us who tried to embrace a drunken moon, the chant the Indians drummed—glittering eyes watched while we unbuttoned our clothes. My fetish necklace swung back and forth, animals snarling. Meanwhile, the party reeled and swayed, gathering momentum. The she we knew off blowing somebody’s husband, the he we knew off kissing somebody’s wife. We gathered our belongings. You stopped to kiss each feral animal draped across my breasts. They circled my neck in stone, nipped the wild air. The pair of white-tail deer, we startled. Accustomed to owls calling one another in the sleep of trees, not the keening sound of love, this privilege of being human. We watch them disappear into someone else’s poem. |
