National Poetry Month Day 13: “Ghosts” by Brachah Goykadosh



Ghosts who I loved wandering through the glass doors and the turnstiles
without seeing me walking swiftly behind them.

Your cologne in the air, a morning before, while I waited for the train on the platform.
The memory of it. Here, this is the place where I was in love with you, stranger.

Ghosts disappearing around the brick corners,
not hearing my footsteps chasing behind them.

So what if I am always following the memory of you.
Twinkling winking Polaris that will lead me nowhere.

                                                                       (this fragment of figment)

Twilight: I wore a beret, the fuzzy charcoal cashmere sweater that I stole from my
mother’s armoire on that chilly morning

and I walked through the windy, discarded streets
searching for Ghosts.

Maybe I am going home.
Maybe home is always looking for you.

-Brachah Goykadosh

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Bracha Goykadosh is a graduate student at Brooklyn College.

Original poetry published by The Rumpus. More from this author →