Our eyes spit the blame like darts playing home to poison gas tell yourself you never liked that shade of emulsion anyway don't look at her, your mother's ghost. Not in the eyes. no paint left to fill our indents, syllables die on our tongues and this is the very last time, nothing beyond fake flowers, marble make this make sense, wait for the sun to get up so you go with it if your mother's ghost still loves you she will follow. Tell yourself you could feel her keeping you alive, you're scared that you could get hit by a bus and she wouldn't be there to save you. I almost lose your name from my mouth, which one of us died in this room? The yellow walls got painted over when after seven years, Dad accepted that his childhood sweetheart wasn't coming back.
Anova one. Reminder that people have ghosts they get stuck on.
with water color ink made permanent with a pin an emerald garden grew from the surface of her skin the sight was divine the branches aligned & through the cracks poured sunlight in. the honeysuckles oozed the hollyhocks seeped as chartreuse hummingbirds dank nectar through their beaks. by her favorite birthmark hanging from a tree was a silver web of silk gossamer and dazzling. with each image set, pressed onto her skin her flesh turned bright red like the rosehips near her ribs.