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.