Written by Elizabeth Palmer
We talk about ghosts like poltergeists in our homes, stacking chairs on tabletops, turning faucets on, creaking up the stairs at night. But ghosts can exist in a multitude of forms. While I have yet to experience anything remotely paranormal or inexplicable, I’ve found that there are ghosts in all the crevasses of my life. I over analyze and scrutinize memories and words, conversations, and the lines I write of all the poems I never finish. I am haunted by the unfinished and unresolved. The ghosts and questions linger at the end of every exhale of breath—exhales that are never followed by the words that haunt the peripherals of my mind. There are spaces between the words I say and write (and the words I don’t), a twenty-seventh letter of an alphabet that lingers and weaves into all the things I allow to haunt me.