JULIA COHEN
FOR
THE “H” IN GHOST
I.
Taught to autograph
the sandbox, who said
our silky
signatures are indelible?
In this erasure, to confess
we only possess
ourselves.
Stripped and succulent
as an anti-ode
to carelessness.
Posterity and
Novocain.
II.
Cut through the diagonal
ocean for the antidote
of amnesia.
Simplicity
of the greatest feat:
hurt
as few as possible.
Dry
the heart’s fog. Hold tight,
and how to let go.
Valves open, close.
The wet, fullness
of a Siberian pear.
III.
Even in shipwreck,
we are not
marooned.
We play host
to ghosts, daily.
Mother, Father
and the street
sweeper.
IV.
The unspeakable
“H.”
When the bar
falls away
“I” and “I” stand
face to face.
I have antennae.
I have a tail.
I cloud-hop.
I know how to hold a hand.