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| [untitled] by Bronwen Waller |
| I played once with a Ouija board I was fifteen, and I asked it if my heartthrob liked me It spelled gibberish. I was immortal It was now, and could never be long ago Some of my friends told ghost stories They saw dead relatives deliver platitudes I scoffed, death couldn't touch me I never cared about life after death until I lost my father So fast and slippery he tumbled down into the depths of no breath We were a family, now we have been wrong We are now wrong Through the last gasps, I stared above him, watching for a spirit, something to tell me, but saw nothing I was almost glad; it would ask how I could have let him die My mother watched his eyes, and all she saw was fear She closed them, but couldn't make his mouth stay closed, his poor purple bruise of a mouth warped by the ventilator tube I'm still waiting to wake up I collect ghost stories now. I am careful of obsession Not that careful. copyright © Bronwen Waller 2001 |
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