Her Cherry Tree

The tattoo’s eyes bore past me.

Frantically, I banged on the door. When she opened the door again her face had recognizably paled.

“Kyra?” I asked.

“Come,” she said, coldly.

The branches on her neck emanated, as I watched her turn to climb the stairs. She disappeared into the shadow at the top of the stairwell before I decided to step across the threshold.

Her house was hollow, with all the windows closed and the shades drawn. A thin film of dust covered the furniture. As I bent down to survey everything a little closer, the door slammed itself shut.

Or at least I thought it did. There, standing just off to the right was what was left of Mrs. Williams’ body, peering at me. My heart began to race. I slowly crept towards the stairs, hoping not to attract its attention. Mrs. Williams’ shoulders hunched forward like an animal alert of its prey. In between her heaving pants, she crouched, lowering her face to the floor.

I waited. She was a statue, a gargoyle awaiting instructions.

Once I was sure she wouldn’t lunge at me I went to find Kyra. Down the corridor I could see her sitting on the edge of her bed, the door ajar. She was still as I came closer.

“Kyra?” I said.

“You can see us?” she said, her voice a harsh whisper. The cherry tree ink on her neck rippled, glowing a low purple. “How…” The sound this time was husky and sweet, a deeper decimal just below hers speaking along with her.

“I can help you, but you have to leave Kyra and her family alone!” I yelled, not meaning to appear so desperate before the spirit. “Where’s your people?” I said.

She pushed a curl behind her ear trying to wipe the water from Kyra’s eyes.

“Gone,” was her only reply.

She bunched up her skirt into clenched fists, tears falling into her lap. I looked up in time to catch a gathering of shadows down the hall around Mrs.Williams’ body. Apparently, the emotional state of the spirit had awoken its watch dog. The darkness scattered up the walls, frittering like insects, as the body moved towards us. Her leaden footsteps dropped onto the floorboards. I jumped to the other side of the room to throw open the window for a quick escape.

Mrs. Williams reached the sunlight, and somehow she smiled at me as sweetly as the first day we met in church. A little surprised I was in her daughter’s room, she crossed over the carpeting feebly when only moments ago she was sprinting.

Kyra perked up, transforming as if nothing was amiss. After she ushered her mom out, she happily bounced towards me with a mischievous smile on her round face.

The shades snapped shut, and instantly her expression hardened. Fog rose around us as she tiptoed to reach my face. She touched her forehead to my third eye, her warmth spreading as the fog filled the room.



Spending The Morning Alone


This morning someone spoke my name.

Sometimes I have trouble waking

I fall back to sleep

deep into dreaming

the weight of the voice shook me up, teeming

with a power

I have never known

I opened my eyes  to realize that


was alone

and so it goes

whenever I’m lost in a vortex that is the bed

a voice speaks inside my head

if I’m too heavy

it rolls me into the covers tightly

pushes the pillows over ever so slightly

& shoves the alarm right under my ear

just near enough to deafen

On occasion I’ll come face to face with a face

precariously perched on the wooden chair

from my dresser

eyes intent and steady

watching me breath, I guess

until I am startled into wakefulness

& scan the room

looking for the missing soul

that rippled my sleep

only to see once again

that I am alone

the sole person

in this home.


The Ghost In The Mirror

Who’s that ghost in the mirror

fighting through the pain of being alone

making friends with the walls

ignoring phone calls

falling into the floor to find feeling

reeling about how so much is missing

searching obituary listings, dissing

half ass acquaintances  who crossed over already

steady crying jaded tears and drinking beers

bitchin about an empty bed

a hollow kitchen

and a house that’s hardly lived in

pickin dirty dishes out of the sink to eat on

So long since kind words were spoken

silence sounds like broken pipes

bursted, rehearsed it,

that pretty smile fades


as she jumps

off the stool in the living room

Fool, you can’t kill what’s been dead

said the lover

Get me out of your head

fleeting meetings of our heated greetings

are all at an end

bend back into the fold

ascend or stay

either way just do it with out me

learn to bleed

read between the lines


you can allow yourself to live again