Patsy Sees a Ghost

　　by Lola Haskins

　　 I'm crossing the river where it narrows，

　　 carefully， it being Sunday

　　 and I'm past the root end of the log

　　 when I look up，

　　 and there's a haunt sitting

　　 on the blossom end.

　　 I can see trumpet vine and blackberries

　　 through her white dress.

　　 Gnats hang in the air.

　　 The river runs， red-brown and deep.

　　 The haunt sings

　　 and it's my music， the blood song

　　 of my heart and bones

　　 and my skull dancing in the road.

　　 And Chloe， she knows my name.

　　 She says Oh Patsy， take care，

　　 or you will surely fall

　　 and the thick river

　　 will pull you too to shroudy weeds

　　 and you'll be gone，

　　 gone as the moment you looked up

　　 and saw the trumpet vine and

　　 berrries， hot and ready

　　 through my white dress，

　　 gone as all the years since I died，

　　 and waited here for you