ghost
i remember it all
like how an old musician
softly brushes
the dust off of the
old glass record
gently prodding the notes,
the familiar beat
to trigger
long lost memories
there was a time
where i believed in
ghosts
sitting cross-legged
on the
edge of my bed
a sense of awe
looking in front
of me
the silence separates the
ghost and i
i burn
the fire within me
won’t go away
heat spreads from my
soul to the
tips of my fingers
with desire
one touch
of my ghost-
the silvery-white
wisps
of smoke
disappearing
into the air
my questions
linger in the smoke
i lean
in to stick my hand
out
fingers outstretched
bracing for
the moment
that my hands would
graze the silvery white
outline of a shadow
but i'm too late
the ghost disappears
alternative worlds
of school and studying
take its place
but all
i want
is my ghost
back
i am
a ghost, a shell
of what remains of me
​
​
​
Claire Y. Hong (2019)