You must be a ghost because some days ghosts are the only thing worth loving. I mean—young ghost, I don’t love you. I mean—I don’t know how to splinter love against the haze of your care. If I spoke enough French, I could thank you for your tendress and perhaps you’d laugh. Sometimes I pretend you have eyes and I know their colour. Once, I almost saw your mouth and didn’t understand the contour of your lips. Do you believe in souls or tongues or the eight bones of my wrist? Instead of finding faith, I’ll invite you to haunt the sanctuary of my ears. Please: whisper unshaped benedictions until I learn the structure of my throat. Do you know ghosts aren’t the only thing that can make me cry?
Posted by By Jessica Coles November 23, 2021
Last updated on December 6, 2021
Jessica Coles (she/her) is a poet and editor from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada (Treaty 6 territory), where she lives with her family and a judgmental tuxedo cat named Miss Bennet. Many years ago, she got a B.A. in linguistics that she currently uses to write love poems. Her work has appeared in Prairie Fire, Moist Poetry Journal, and You are a Flower Growing off the Side of a Cliff: a chapbook about mental health and resiliency (League of Canadian Poets chapbook series). Her first chapbook, unless you’re willing to evaporate, is available through Prairie Vixen Press. She often tweets micropoems and creative encouragement as @milkcratejess.
Can you define me by what I am not?