The Best Time To Talk To Ghosts

We Tilt Our Heads Back And Open Wide. The Snow Drifts Into Our Zombie Mouths Crawling With Grease And Curses And Tobacco Flakes And Cavities And Boyfriend/girlfriend Juice, The Stain Of Lies. For One Moment We Are Not Failed Tests And Broken Condoms And Cheating On Essays; We Are Crayons And Lunch Boxes And Swinging So High Our Sneakers Punch Holes In The Clouds. For One Breath Everything Feels Better. Then It Melts. The Bus Drivers Rev Their Engines And The Ice Cloud Shatters. Everyone Shuffles Forward. They Don't Know What Just Happened. They Can't Remember.

We Held Hands When We Walked Down The Gingerbread Path Into The Forest, Blood Dripping From Our Fingers. We Danced With Witches And Kissed Monsters. We Turned Us Into Wintergirls, When She Tried To Leave, I Pulled Her Back Into The Snow Because I Was Afraid To Be Alone.

Think About Love, Or Hate, Or Joy, Or Pain- Whatever Makes You Feel Something, Makes Your Palms Sweat, Or Your Toes Curl. Focus On That Feeling. When People Don't Express Themselves, They Die On Piece At A Time.

It Happened. There Is No Avoiding It, No Forgetting. No Running Away, Or Flying, Or Burying, Or Hiding.

I've Written In Every Imaginable Location; A Repurposed Closet, The Kitchen Table, The Bleachers While My Kids Had Basketball Practice, The Front Seat Of The Car When They Were At Soccer. In Airports. On Trains. In The Break Room When I Was Supposed To Be Wolfing Down Dinner. In The Back Of Classrooms When I Was Supposed To Be Paying Attention.