house

How I Became a Ghost

It was all about objects, their objections
expressed through a certain solidity.

My house for example still moves
through me, moves me.
When I tried to reverse the process
I kept dropping things, kept finding myself
in the basement.

Windows became more than
usually problematic.
I wanted to break them
which didn’t work, though for awhile

I had more success with the lake.

The phone worked for a long time
though when I answered
often nobody was there.

Bats crashed into me at night,
but then didn’t anymore.

The rings vanished from my hand,
the pond.

I stopped feeling the wind.

One day the closets were empty.

Another day the mirrors were.

–Leslie Harrison

I was introduced to Harrison’s poetry through friend and fellow blogger Virgin in the Volcano. Harrison’ first book, Displacement, was awarded the Bakeless prize for poetry in 2008 and will be available in July. She lives in Sandisfield Massachusetts.

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