To Ghost and To Be Ghosted

-->

To ghost is to release your self like tar from lungs

out into the universe like a cloud unraveling from the night sky.

To put on the jacket of the invisible man, flipping up the collar to shield yourself from the whistling of the wind through

His two front teeth… Stepping out into the street

and feeling the grit

of gravel beneath your feet, keeping your eyes

at least two feet in front of you so that you don’t

miss the tiny landscapes and roadside attractions

between your toes: a shriveled worm, a half dollar coin, a ring

from a vending machine, broken glass that looks licked smoothed

by the desert and at least 5 dried flowers dropped from the diary

of a young girl who walked along this path not 15 minutes before you.

            To ghost is to guess how far away the ground is and then to leap,

            Keeping in mind that if you die, no one will remember your

            Smile or the sweetness of your shampoo that lingers like

            The smell of rain. Feel the disdain

            When you land with a resounding shock—the reverberations

            Rattle your molars into the back of your mouth,

            Swallowing them despite yourself, like when you learned

            To stomach the smell of flesh, the feel of it on your tongue

            The fleeing of life from another being

            Hoping their soul made it somewhere after its body was processed

            Compressed into shapes that we might find appetizing

Dodging our instincts to dominate our inner beast

Deepening the divide between our spirits and our minds.

            To be ghosted is to stand behind her, listening to the way

            Her fingernails sang over the grooves of vinyl,

            Tiny mountain ranges like the silhouette of her spine.

            It was divine to run my tongue along the topography of

Her body, I remember

Her cool salty taste like the sea in December and the gravel cutting

into my palms like

            The night we locked ourselves out of her brother’s apartment so I

            Stripped my shirt off, slipping it around my hand before

            Punching it through the glass window, feeling the crunch of

            My knuckles on impact. Red ribbons of pain cinching around

            My wrists like zipties cutting off the circulation, the sensation of

            My body thrust into the cop car and I could hear her sobs, wracking

            As I plead for someone to help her, hold her and simultaneously searching

For something to thrust into my eye socket,

            To hear the white noise, feel the static, dissipate this sensation

            Anticipating the return of musical memory, humming the melody into my

            Skeleton, vibrating my bones so I can remember

            Her breath in tune to the music, her hips

            Swaying somewhere between bass and vocals in a rhythm you can

            See but not hear, having the words form in my mouth

            And letting them fall flat, watching her move with the sway of

            An African belly dancer, cigarette smoke hanging around her limbs

            Like the fog caressing the peaks

            Of a mourning mountain.