Ghosts Ghosts of my father, my mother, my sister, and brother no longer bother. They still talk to me. My lover ghosts still haunt me —in good ways. I love the help they give me —especially in bed while sleeping. II. But give me the ghosts of my pets, please. Bring back Poogie—who ran away —after eight years. Bring back Piglet —who did not die in my company because I left my ex. And bring back Georgia —oh, for the love of the goddess, please. She was someone I loved so deeply and purely. She’s the ghost I miss the most. I want to hear her stirring in quiet morning hours. I want to hear the couch poof to her psychic landing. I want to smell summer grass at the top of my nose and I want to feel mossy mud between my toes for those are things that remind me of her. Pet ghosts are good things I am not afraid of —even the three ghosts of goldfish I flushed down the toilet —I’m so deeply sorry, forgive me. III. Ghosts are the energy patterns which stand for my love, and our sweet interactions. Ghosts of my friends, my ancestors, and those who have loved me, sit beside me, walk with me, and drive shotgun in my car, please. I miss your company, my Sweeties. — May 8, 2025, at 7:28 a.m.

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