You have so much good in you
Meet me in the middle
Where stars are dead
I’ll hug your body
I’ll kiss your head
On Saturdays the library gathers ghosts.
They shuffle in through thick doors
wander into basements and up stairwells, whose marble has long since been worn into curved steps from the heavy boots salted with a Midwest winter coat
I watch one ghost as she speaks softly to herself
Pushing a cart through the biography section
Her glasses are smudged and falling off her nose
She sits down and opens the newspaper to the obituaries
She circles the names of people she might know.
I click passed her with one hollow footstep from a heal cap that disappeared into snow
She does not look up
Before the brightness faded and the magic became boring
The hair of humans used to be something more. Long ago humans let their hair grow long
Little thoughts would spring up from their brains in-between the napes of their necks and the tops of their foreheads. Thoughts grew in long streams from the heads of humans.
Babies thoughts were fine and fragile like the furry hair that covered their little grapefruit sized heads. And as a little child when you are four and five it was easy for your thoughts to tangle, as this is a most confusing age. Dads, moms, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, and uncles would spend hours gently combing though the thoughts of little ones and talking in whispers to them, hoping to help their thoughts untangle.
And sometimes when you are old and have lived lots of years of life, your thoughts would begin to fall out. And you would forget much of what you had once thought so important.
This would happen to the children too. Of course, you can’t remember every bit of life. And so when hair came out on hands or was found stuck to the bottoms if socks, people would hold up the little thoughts to the light and wonder hard about what thing they had forgotten.