my ghost

--- was all bones and opaqueness
so i took her

to the ghost market thinking: "i could
trade in this ghost, perhaps,

for a newer, more improved ghost,"

but once there, it was all wrong.

one couldn't wail. another
wasn't dim enough. rows of laundry-whites
stained the breeze. everyone smelled

of wood ash and dried leaves.

there were ghosts on sale
that couldn't have been anything

but people with sheets over their heads.

from inside, i imagined their eyes
straining. and noticed my eyes,

searching too, to see anything
behind the cloth ---


Jamison Crabtree is a Black Mountain Institute Ph.D. fellow at the University of Nevada Las Vegas. His first book, rel[am]ent, received the Washington Prize and was published in spring of 2015. His recent work appears or is forthcoming in Fence, Sundog Lit, Nightblock, Heavy Feather Review, White Stag, and decomP.