There is a ghost at the door -
I know this because
The bell rings hollowly
I arrive at the door
And the ghost turns from the bell
Gazing absently
Into my eyes
I welcome the disembodied guest
Trying for a smile
But he tries to ignore it
As most ghosts do
I offer him a cup of tea
He wants coffee
Bitter and dark
With not one lick of sugar
Not one
I serve it hot
Steam spilling out like water
Falling in a plane
That disobeys the laws of physics
He blows the steam off
But though the coffee remains
Piping hot
He takes a sip anyway
As most ghosts do
The silence steals the sound
In the room
And I wonder
When did the birds stop chirping
The guest finishes his cup
Setting it aside
And holds out his hand
It's empty inside
I realize now the implication
And I put mine in it
As he drifts me away from the table
And we near the door
I want to get my bags, my mirror, my purse
He says, "No, that will make it worse."
I nod and drift with him to the door
Our hands still concealed into each other
With his other hand
He grips the knob
Turning it twice
Into a world without vice