Tag: ghost
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Unburied Hatchet
Until I saw those wasted hands, brittle as chalk, I hadn’t thought how fast the years make ghosts. I heard them once called brawler’s paws. For me, they were always more: cobras, poised to strike. But his brawling days are gone now; I could kill him with a pillow, if I cared enough to try.…
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Tōrō Nagashi
Your flame flickers briefly— a parting whisper. Some trick of the river mimics your laughter. We stand apart at sunset, lost in natsukashii, come together in darkness, to watch the dead pass on. Your light has fallen now to shadow beneath the bridge. Ryan Stone First published on Napalm and Novocain, January 2016 Published at Poetry…
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Self-portrait
And these are my failings: a wild smile always leads my mind to the kiss hiding behind it and sometimes to plot the shortest route there. Did I say sometimes? I lie a bit, too. And I tend to zone out to small-talk – there are enough idle words in the world. And I can’t…
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Old Photograph
In the photo I keep in my wallet you’re smiling. No hint of ghosts in the glint of your eye. You’re sitting on a riverbank weaving a daisy chain I wore until it crumbled– linking flower to flower with the unblemished certainty that beauty and vows are forever. Ryan Stone
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Dog Days
There’s a lot going on in the world today. My TV stays off for sanity’s sake. Another school. Child. Innocent. Betrayal. And fear, like a flag hanging over it all. When sorrow engulfs me, I almost feel guilty– how does an old paw print eclipse any of that? But my sphere spins slowly, the breeze…
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Breaking Point
Pa, I see you in your shed– unaware of dusk settling over your garden, painting your pink crabapple blossoms grey. I see you bend, to squint at some small imperfection marring the wooden soldier you’ve spent the whole day carving, hands slow-dancing to a tune no-one else can hear. Later Ma will shake her head,…
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Muted
Clock hands circle lethargically. Heels clack, a distant speaker hisses – muted, surreal. I shift on a green vinyl chair, eyes trace an arc from clock to window. Outside, a succubus sun kisses children at play. At my father’s bedside, both of us wish I wasn’t. I despise myself for watching the minutes, and him…
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Ghosts at Dawn
Too thin – you now exist within a pause as dawn retracts her claws from day; you fade, while I must stay. Ryan Stone
