Poetry

—6660.222 Ghosts that haunt all the secondhand curiosities in antique stores and thrift shops: musty ghosts in the vintage dresses, moth-ghosts in the tailcoats, ghosts that haunt the cracked teacups,
the worn-soled boots, the rusted skeleton keys

JESSIE LYNN MCMAINS,
RUST BELT JESSIE’S TAXONOMY OF GHOSTS

Witchsong—Serene Ng

and I know/ I tell myself/ don’t raise the dead/ but I have walked in this graveyard so long/ there is no sound no breath no anything/

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Witches stuff moss into my cheeks, flush to the bone. In the slanted light you can/ imagine their death, but they are/ dying again when you run over a railway bridge with a Chinese lantern, dying again as a barn owl flies over a roundabout, silent arch over glowing tarmac.

SOPHIE DICKINSON, BROOK