We Are All In Motion
We pass the cemetery on the way to school
and he says maybe it’s haunted.
Maybe the dead have nothing better to do
than to whisper in our ears
Look at me, please.
Maybe we all leave ghosts behind
when the torrent changes.
Maybe my hands are still
wrapped around my brother
As we watch our toy cars crash together,
the same way that the sun’s bygone light
presently caresses my scalp.
Is that shine ever wasted
when its remnants are seen in the willows?
Is a ghost a faded cry, lunging for a body to fill,
or simply a ripple of life without the need to land?
It ricochets between us, collecting and colliding.
There is nothing that happens only once.
A car drives out of the cemetery lot,
and he says we should come back at night
when the light can’t reach us,
and the living don’t sing.
That way we’re the only ones who know
what we’re about to leave behind.
Katie Squires is a student at Northern Arizona University pursuing a Bachelor's degree in English literature and journalism. She spends her free time volunteering at her school radio station and writing poetry. This is her debut poetry publication.