Conversation with a ghost

Jerry Reynolds

With a pale blue hand,

She stroked my face.

I asked, “What’s it like

Being a ghost?”

Her mouth opened

I could taste the smell

Of thunder

A ball of fire gathers

In the back of her throat-

I said, “Never mind

I don’t want to know.”

Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Comments +

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.