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Ghosts

After Cara Mujer

some silences, like soured linens,

the too long gone on

uncleanness

in dreams, smells become characters

that speak and move

one of you, in a house

of so many empty rooms you offer

but my child will not sleep

a billowing curtain is some

historical, hysterical woman

in a red floral print

she will not quit her haunting

until a tall opera singer

blasts the hallway with her clear

supersonic voice

one of you, you come to my house

while it is being built, I have

to wrestle the door moulding from your hands

and ask you to leave

one of you, I find you dressed as a teacher in the back pews of religious high school assembly with my old bible/computer science instructor, and I mutter through the sermon and the children ask me to leave

these vapors

and their faces

take so long to wash out

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