Wednesday, June 12, 2024

Ghosts in My Home By April Ridge

The heart compartmentalized and haunted 
by different lifetimes,
separated by thinly blurred lines.
The irony of an ex drinker 
haunted by spirits!
The Ghost of Christmas Past 
shares a hot buttered rum with me,
but only on Christmas Eve, 
just like Mr. Lahey on Trailer Park Boys.
The fat girl mentality ever-present: 
I fold my arms to cover my belly, 
cover my smile to shyly hide timidity.
Waiting for a school bell or a pop quiz 
to save me from having to speak.
How to embrace these little ones 
that forever haunt us 
from the back of the heart?
The skeletons in my closet 
shrieking for some sort of 
visceral release--
they want appeasement by sacrifice.
The bones of yesterday's woes--
they demand acknowledgment,
a place at the table 
where your ego 
takes a back seat and
you admit defeat and 
claim the blame of 
all of your misgivings.
These skeletons are HUNGRY.
The ghosts wheeze and 
clang their rusty chains 
like so many Jacob Marleys 
warning and welcoming you 
to come on home.






April Ridge lives in the expansive hopes and dreams of melancholy rescue cats. She thrives on strong coffee, and lives for danger. In the midst of Indiana pines, she follows her heart out to the horizon of reality and hopes never to return to the misty sands of the nightmarish 9 to 5. April aspires to beat seasonal depression with a well-carved stick, and to one day experience the splendor of the Cucumber Magnolia tree in bloom.

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