The Ghost

He deserves the honest mirror eyes of a stranger
in the corner of a dark and seedy bar,
past midnight on a Tuesday.
He deserves his woven falsities
reflected back to him, veneer ripped down the middle
so that the jagged edges blow in the smoky wind.

He will part his lips, and swallow,
blink and look away, then back.
A man being shown a long-covered reality,
the moment of cold, white exposure,
like pulling back a hospital room curtain.
A child who has just learned
to recognize himself in glass;
the past, who slinks out of the shadows
and taps the present on the shoulder,
icy breath on his warm neck,
“what happened?”

Contributor: Marina Kovacs-McCaney

Copyright © 2013 Marina Kovacs-McCaney. All Rights Reserved.

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