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.