Anatomy of a Haunting
Haunting is the word for desire gone rancid. I lie awake making up ghosts from a history of failure. Here is someone to take the blame for the lost earrings, the burnt pan, the procession of curdled relationships. Someone to keep me warm at night.
What small animal died in your doorway. What bump in the night did you call roommate so it couldn’t be a murderer in the closet, the woman you couldn’t love right returned to enumerate your shortcomings on the front door.
An untouchable moon rises above the midnight elms. A lightbulb fizzles. All this bad energy has to go somewhere; why not give it a name and set it a place at the table, set it loose in the house like a bewildered bird.
Imagination has a sound internal logic. I make up someone to clutch in the dark because I can’t leave the house. No exterminator or priest will come. Spectral activity is just one more thing I can’t correctly identify.