Haunted Earth

The haunted earth tells me the angels are watching over me and have felt my sadness and are sending me love and healing. There are puddles on the sidewalk and I look for the clouds but it is a man watering his grass. Why don’t I believe him— that the universe in its haunting can recognize despair. My footprints remain for mere minutes in the sun, I know this. I am sure we are made of discontent. I’m sure of it— the ghosts and apparitions long to consume our sadness in their endless days. It is warm in the sun. How they must wander. Wandering haunted plains as November approaches and trees become barren. They watch over me— us— humans— all things living. I wonder if the sun is a ghost. Apparitions send warmth to our chambers and hope we will feel them with us but we cannot. We shade our eyes with our hands and how he must scowl at us. I want to welcome the sun— oh, but what of wrinkles? My eyes cannot become old. Without belief we cannot begin to heal, he tells me. The haunted earth scowls. Apparitions hold their palms open— they collect our pain and it becomes a passing memory. Our sadness may be a ghost as well. My footprints are no longer visible as the sun has taken my print and transformed it into a ghost because he too wants a friend. November is nearly here, my friend.

— ODH