Variations on Films About Ghosts
I would like to be the woman in white, haunting.
I would like to haunt you in that old-fashioned,
black-on-black-on-white with a grainy finish
kind of way. I would like to be the face you
see behind the swoon of curtain, pale and pure
as the sasquatch moon, irresistible to the child
who lives in your darkest secrets. I’d like to play
the piano with pained fingers in some closed-off
yellow walled room with nothing but a black cat
and an alabaster tune to keep me company. I’d like
to be the song that repeats in your head like the
memory of a first kiss, the single note that sounds
again and again you are going the wrong way down
a path of mosses and muds. I would like to slip
these bonds of plaited hair and silver watchstraps,
pick a purple tulip from the flower’s edge, become
the shadow that trails your every step. There is a
kind of haunting that lingers in the static between
takes, that slips back to still black when you turn your
head, that can be heard only when you stop
breathing. I would be that transparent. For you.
Image taken with iPhone on the walk back from the coffee shop.
Words written at the kitchen table. Riffing on Margaret Atwood’s “Variations on the Word Sleep.”
Time Taken 10 minutes.
Brain on bad horror movies, Indian food, first dates.