Antiskeptic

By Grace Marsh

I do not hide in the poem 

I haunt it

the words run

across the page

frightened 

always looking over

their shoulders at me

they trip 

themselves up

as they flee

never escaping unscathed 

always covered 

in the ectoplasm

of my grief 

which spews on

and on

from my yawning mouth

my new-clawed fingers

the gaping chasm

of my chest

I do not hide in the poem

I haunt it 

a ghost-

busting fantasy

By Grace Marsh