Ghosted
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You ghosted me.
I’m staring at the screen where you used to be.
I trace the network of lines that make these lights
Looking for you.
I don’t know why you ghosted me.
But I guess that’s the whole point, isn’t it?
You just aren’t there.
I’ve packed up my equipment to pursue you.
I’ve got my ghost box, my EMT millimeter.
My voice recorder. I have polished my black mirror,
I am ready to descry.
So many years we shadowed each other
And now you are a shadow
And I am in noon sun.
You are a cold space in my heart
And in this room.
You are just an orb, a blip.
But my equipment picks up residuals.
There’s a glow, the indicator shivers.
You are nearby.
OK, old ghost, show yourself.
Explain.
Apologize.
And then, if you like, vanish into air.
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Janet McCann
Janet McCann, is from College Station, Texas. Journals publishing Janet McCann’s work include Kansas Quarterly, Parnassus, Nimrod, Sou’wester, America, Christian Century, Christianity and Literature, New York Quarterly, Tendril, and others. She has written four poetry books and six chapbooks. Her most recent poetry book: The Crone at The Casino (Lamar University Press, 2014) She taught at Texas A&M for 47 years. She lives with her dogs, Marple and Poirot, and writes copiously about them.
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