GOODNIGHT GHOST

A POEM FOR OCTOBER

Step closer. 

Don’t mind the crunch 
of your boots on the leaves, 
you won’t wake anyone. 

The leaves are more like mulch now, anyways 
fetid, rotting 				corpses  
beneath your feet. 

Keep going, that’s it! 
Put one cold hand on the iron gate & 
push— 

it’s not locked— 
all are welcome here & 
no one comes  
for a short stay. 

We’ve made a space for you, 
come, lie down. 
Rest right here, next to me, 
next to us. We promise 
we don’t bite. Usually. 

We’ll tuck you in 
with a blanket of dirt 
& the whispers of the dead— 
we know you can’t sleep 
without your white noise machine. 

Yes, that’s it, let your bones settle. 
Comfortable, isn’t it, six feet down? 
No one will bother you here, 
we promise. 

                       No one  
                       except for us.