Ghost Stepping
Walking the city streets like two shadows,
you and I are ghost stepping
along the concrete. We follow the young woman
in striped yoga pants, Jimmy Choo heels,
and Tiffany hoops swinging from her ears like church bells
calling the faithful to a funeral. We follow her home,
let the canary out of its cage.
I go to her Wall Street banker of a husband.
He’s shaving in the shower.
Now I touch his face, his arms, the inside of his leg.
You slip a yellow diamond ring off his wife’s manicured finger;
we watch as she searches the three story house,
looking under the sleek leather couch,
inside the antique oak drawers,
down the wine cellar, up to the glass solarium.
We breathe into her ear: every lost thing
vanished into empty space creates a hole
in the heart of the universe.
But the young woman, with thin tan lines
circling her bony shoulders and
sunglasses riding on top of her head,
blames it all on the whining cry
locked in the bedroom closet, the kid
huddled in the corner under the blanket
smelling like a wet dog. The girl she once was,
beaten for speaking. For being silent. For ears
sticking out from her head like a cup.
For pee running down her leg. For breathing
too loudly. For being
anything at all.
by Lois Roma-Deeley - Lois Roma-Deeley,is the author of three collections of poetry: Rules of Hunger, northSight and High Notes. She has published poetry in numerous literary journals and anthologies including Spillway, Bellingham Review and The Transnational. Roma-Deeley is a recipient of an Arizona Commission on the Arts 2016 Artist Research & Development Grant. http://www.loisroma-deeley.com/