Ghost Encounter
       

From the perspective of a ghost,
we are dull. We are like anything
there, in the room, as discrete

as a chair or a lamp—then 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 floorboards—not 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 sifter—blocky as a block
of wood we are, impenetrable,

even our voices—the lowness,
the bright consonants, the thick
tongued, flat-note sound.

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Copyright © 2016 Annah Browning All rights reserved
from Boulevard
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission