The Haunting

A Prose Poem

Photo by Syarafina Yusof on Unsplash

We are ghosts at the family reunion, my cousin and I. White makeup coats our faces, flowing white sheets wrap around our bodies, and we fly into the front yard, up the driveway. We want to show her mother, but when her mother sees us she puts out her hands, palms first. Go back inside, she says, then looks behind her. It’s dark, but there is a street lamp some ways away. In my memory, it must have been a mile, at…