Angel Light

angel lampPhoto by Me

 

My grandmother’s ghost
illuminates my angel touch lamp
& I know I’ll never stop writing
about ghosts for as long
as I’m not one, for as long
as life says I can

Even then, someone will
write automatically
one day
& it will be me, from beyond
the beyond, & a thought of me
might make something
fall from an earth bound wall

As I write this
the world is falling down,
literally, a map tacked to my wall
slowly wilts to the ground,
& I think of Poltergeist,
but only in a “that’s a good movie” sense,
for I’m sure this minor,
jarring catastrophe
is not an angry paranormal entity,
but indeed, humidity,
for this summer, like all others,
is sweltering

& maybe, I’ve accidentally
performed a conjuring
by playing my grandmother’s music
too loudly to drown out
the spirits of memory
plaguing me,

& maybe this is
the light’s way
of purging me
from all of the darkness
put on me,
& any mortal calamity
is only instilled paranoia
from TV

I’ve learned that
people are scarier than those
not living, that the un-dead aid the most
in re-living, & that no one’s close to giving
up, commending, or ascending,

& that no unexplained phenomena
can scare me quite like
a week long binge on insomnia,
when all my ghosts & demons appear
& everything blends
into all that I fear

I’ve doused this low bulb
with my mind, & all of the specters
have returned to their shadows,
their prophetic presence,
& their secrets, deep inside me
where no one can find

I sit, the dim glow in absentia,
for as long as I need to,
grieving over being left behind

© Jennifer Patino (2018)

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