Today's poem is by Annah Browning
From the perspective of a ghost,
we are dull. We are like anything
there, in the room, as discrete
as a chair or a lampthen we move.
The little flicker in the eyes.
That's what gets me, one ghost
says. Almost like they're
really alive, like they can see
through the floorboardsnot just
a crack of light, but a whole
century, down to dirt, down
a whole cold fathom. Like
they can love something
enough to pass through it
And they're right. We'll never
know what curtain feels,
or sifterblocky as a block
of wood we are, impenetrable,
even our voicesthe lowness,
the bright consonants, the thick
tongued, flat-note sound.
Copyright © 2016 Annah Browning All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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