Emmalynne Shumard
I am a ghost story
In me is the echoes
of every self
I’ve put to rest
Some graves came early,
others far too late
There are lessons
on my tombstones,
There are flowers
growing above my mistakes
I am a field
of old hedge stones
and overgrown ivy
I’m a cared-for garden
and a turn of fresh soil
I’m in a vial on your mantelpiece
where you
won’t
let me go
I’m the bones of something
the earthquakes cannot shake
I’m a grinning skull,
a crooked finger,
a melting pile of skin
Rest on my benches
and run alongside my gates
I am a spirit above all my past
I am a cautionary tale
I am a thousand dead dreams
You will not forget me
I am a ghost story