Posts Tagged ‘ghost story’

I try to tell him
it’s a story.
That Bloody Mary
is only imaginary.
That she cannot hurt him.
Still he insists that I
go with him to the bathroom.
“Cuz Mom, that’s where she kills you,”
he says. “That’s what they told me at camp.”
I hold his hand on the way there,
then stand guard at the door.
It is sweet, in its way,
his fear. So innocent.
So pure. I try to be
this compassionate
with myself, later,
thinking you no longer love me,
telling myself, that’s just
my imagination. Though
the prick of it, the
way I deflate, it feels
so real.

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