Cauldron smoke riseslike gray ghosts dancing —Translucent gossamer beingsseeking escape from the boil.Twisted fingerstorture them into the air–higher and higheruntil first one, then alldisappear.Out of the black more come,souls flying like eyeless insects, grotesquebut freebecause of the Christmas soup.
Ghosts point their cold fingersdown from the roof–long narrow prisms holding lightthen gone.The sununderstands their chilly spirit–encourages them to dance–then with a quick tempo–drip drip crack–a strong spring breathfrees them from their perchlike a maestro’s batoncounting a beat.
When spring comes,frost ghostsnew grass blades–flowers hold their breathshiver–waitinguntil the chill has passed. then open their bloomsbeneath the warm sununafraid.
She had ghosts in her blood–born with them in her cells–raised with them–heard their voices at nightwhen her mother said prayers. When her babies were born,the ghosts followed the childrento their new lives –born in their cells.Ghosts knew themfrom their mother’snightly prayerswhen she spoke their names.
They stood before the priest and knottedthemselves together with a vowuntil death do us part.And yet, what if the knotstays tight and death isjust an illusionof escape? Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others.
When Lucian, not yet three, puts his hand in mine.I feel such joy–this boyknots his lifeline to minein a faiththat he can lead me to where ever he wants to go,and I in the same perfect grandma faith,take him there. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry
The heavy nightopened her womband the earth was born–a beautiful baby blue and greenheld together withdelicate knots woofedon an invisible loom–swaddling a new star in the universe. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others.
She stared at me with her marble eyesand knotted my heart so tightit turned to splintered stone—pieces pierced my souland turned it as well.Then—now, I am alone–unmarked graniteabove a grave not yet dug. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered
The dark nightstreams filaments of her indigo curlsacross the frosty sky.Embellished with stars,loosened locks showerthe late evening with tiny interwoven knotsthreading the curved dome tightly together. The translucent plaits seem to shiverin the crisp air. I walk home not minding my path— look up– watch,waitfor one to unravel or to
I look upto feelthe flickers of lightburningwith silver- blue flamesjust out of reach. The tips of my fingers almost touchthe fireasI stretch high and farto where I believeyou have gone. I am breathlessfrom the frosted airon a winter’s nightin the countrywhere stars are aplentybut I am alone. Lynette G. Esposito,