Meghan Bennet
It’s a town full of haunted attics.
Spiders in bathtubs.
Shadows at ends of beds
that vanish with the light.
Goosebumps that never quite go away.
Cold spots in every room
like you’re just moving from one ghost
to the next.
Sometimes you go on walks in the middle of the night,
down past the campus,
following the echoes of the bell tower
that hasn’t rung in ages.
You start to wonder if the people here
aren’t haunted, too.
If that’s why no one ever seems to leave.
If that’s why you can’t remember
the last time you dreamed.
Because the dead don’t sleep.
Or the living can’t wake.
Because the footsteps up above never quiet.