๛
Dear Ghost
Brett Elizabeth Jenkins
If I pray to you, will you show me how you died?
I want for us to be friends. I want to see
if you can fit inside an envelope and be mailed somewhere.
I want you to be the one who watches me
drinking wine on the floor of my bathroom. My blood
has quietly asked me to do this.
What do you know about blood?
How many clay bowls can be filled with one
man's blood? I don't mean it like that, ghost, it's just
I thought you might know, and it doesn't hurt
to ask, right? But why should I assume you know
all about blood? You're right, it's offensive to ask.
Tell me about candles
lit for you in churches, or about girls who park
their cars on railroad tracks. Tell me about empty
houses, and what clouds do when nobody's watching.
But what do you know about light?
Or the dark? What things are kept
in it? I need to know.
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