A photograph of when he was selling the house— his wife’s
ghost comes with, fully made-up: lipstick, eyeliner, costume jewels.
Neighbors have moved, unrecognizable feral children stealing
his mail. The microwave’s low growl every few hours. Its
startling chimes. Cold instant coffee in unwashed cups, parked in
every room. Late night television snores, another glimpse of her
shadow, & a blurry National Geographic image: lamed wildebeest
left behind by a herd awaits the lion, as his half-sleep bleeds on.
Unleashed dogs will circle his early morning hours, cars sneering
from the street, & in that photograph, her fuzzy yellow slippers—
waiting outside the smudged sliding-glass door, like goslings.
--
Michael Dwayne Smith haunts many literary houses, including Gargoyle, Third Wednesday, The Cortland Review, New World Writing, Chiron Review, Monkeybicycle, and Heavy Feather Review. Author of four books, recipient of the Hinderaker Prize for poetry, the Polonsky Prize for fiction, and a multiple-time Pushcart Prize/Best of the Net nominee, he lives near a Mojave Desert ghost town with his family and rescued horses.