Like a Ghost
I haunt the frigid morning as a visible
apparition, like this: steam breath,
lone footprints in the packed spring snow.
Even the beautiful, reluctant sun cowers
behind a gray sheet upon spotting me
unmasked. Even the ravens remain
hidden in their branches, turning down
fresh death. Like a whisper half-heard,
I glide past all the diners and coffee
chains posting “Takeout Only” signs,
I fight the urge to skip stones on the icy
main drag once replete with cars.
About the Author
Andrew Alexander Mobbs is an Arkansas native en route to Oregon. In 2013, he released his debut poetry chapbook, Strangers and Pilgrims (Six Gallery Press), and he was a 2014 Pushcart Prize nominee. His poems have appeared in Deep South Magazine, The Round, Bayou Magazine, Frontier Poetry, Southwestern American Literature, and elsewhere. He also co-edits the online literary journal, Nude Bruce Review. Waxing poetic aside, he works in higher education.
