PDF

That New Kind of Ghost


by Darryl Price


That was the old me. Walking on a down 
hill. Going nowhere, but still looking for 
a better way to get there. And you were 
the one person who truly saw me, clear 
as a crystal bell. You noticed I was 
not invisible, at all. You tried to 

say it, thank you. But you and I both knew 
it wouldn't matter to any of them. 
It was almost dinner time. Or some other 
kind of time. I simply disappeared 
myself when you weren't looking anymore. 
And you haven't seen me since. Is that right? 

You see me now in these rolling words, spiraling 
around and around these alphabetical 
hills, like some kind of madman 
on a makeshift sleigh. Still determined to 
be left alone. Still searching for a way 
to remember something so beautiful, 

but long ago lost among the now defunct 
wildflowers. The seasons came and took 
the flower's bones far away from our shrinking 
memories, so what're you doing here 
at this late hour? Haven't you had enough? --
I feel like I might have. It's like your time 

didn't come when it said it would, and you 
think it might possibly have something to 
do with you once seeing me walking the 
shadowy hills like a ghost. Didn't you 
get a good enough look at all that new 
age cap and gown ceremonial stuff 

last time you opened a magical book? 
Or did you lose something far too precious 
in the tall grass that day, too? We all do. 
It's not your fault. The worker winds eventually 
blow everything away, to 
sandy bits. Only love privately mourns. 
Endcap