At the back of my pink filing cabinet.
Don't call the shaman yet:
everything I've ever given up on
still fits in a letter-sized hanging folder,
bloated as a floating corpse,
labeled OUTDATED PROJECTS.
Like a vampire coffin, secret
in the basement of an abandoned house.
They only rise at night, of course.
If I lie awake
past midnight on a weeknight
I can hear them over the snore
of all the choices I've made,
shuffling their papers like feet,
rattling their drawer like heavy chains.
I could silence them.
If I could stop telling their stories
to friends around campfires.
If I could stop trying to resurrect them,
stop digging up their skins
and wearing them out to dinner
like a ring from a failed engagement.
This poem was written in response to a Poetry Prompt on Big Tent Poetry.
Aren't they cute?? Photo by dizznbonn
What's haunting you? An unfinished project? A mistake you made? A soured friendship? A chance you didn't take?