Welcome to the second day of our 30/30!
How was yesterday? Are you excited? Aren’t you proud of yourself for coming back?
Your prompt today is:
The blind ghosts find us by
Guidelines, if you want them:
- Posting your response is not required
- Feel free to post your response 🙂
- This is not meant to be the perfect first draft – respond without hesitation for 5-7 minutes, then keep going if you want to
- While our prompts are geared towards poetry, we welcome all kinds of artists
- Tips & encouragement are here
QuillsEdge Press 
Day 2
this is how my blind ghost finds me…
when he can’t see me, he listens
for my heart beat, missing a beat
or the way i swallow hard, almost
choking on nothing at all.
when he can’t see me, he smells me.
there’s garlic in my breath, musk under my
arms, and fish between my legs.
when he can’t see me, he feels my
heat, my cream moistened skin or my
course hair, brushed hard, pulled back.
when he can’t see me, he tastes my
salty tears, my musky skin, with
all the creams and lotions i use.
and when he finds me, he fills me.
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today we are not inspired/by a bipolar sunshine/
suspended in a daydream./today we simply exist/
/in scribbles of vapor/seeping through/ the scree/
at the bottom of cliffs/inconsequential, scattered./
today is a day/where a mere whiff of seagrass/
tips the scales/lightly/to where the blind ghosts/
find us by/desolate crags/skimming the surfaces/
of melting twilit skies/hiding forever from judging eyes./
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Your poetry is breathtaking!
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Blind ghosts find us by touch,
moving fingertips across us
to find a keyhole in the dark.
They can read us like braille,
our bodies night writing
in 6-dot code,
silent, in the dark,
caressing us into
a language of grief.
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Really gorgeous, Cara. Thanks for sharing.
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pheromones – smells we cannot smell
Was I reluctant to hug that aunt because of her cologne?
Is the sweat permeating the air repugnant/attractive?
Standing under the cloak of trees in the backyard,
I gently turn my head right, tilt it up
to a scent that spreads a half smile across my face.
Even blind I would recognize the where and what of it,
soft pink oleander opening dozens of blossoms –
so why not those we love,
blossoms of connection that bind us
in this life and the next,
chem trails of interactions and experiences
leaving behind subtle and less subtle scents,
ways for even blind ghosts to find us.
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my ghosts have night vision
that is how they find me
together we celebrate past and present
but even they cannot see the future
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In the Predawn
The blind ghosts find us strictly by
feel: how our breath moves the night
curtains, how our toes leave ten
imprints in the carpet’s pile. Not a
single clue but multiples along the
well worn path. They touch our
sighs, steal them from the wind,
and pretend they are songs, carry
them away into the pine trees to
sough and carry on when the late
night mockingbird goes still and
the owl’s head falls onto its soft
plumage in the dead ash. Tonight
I hold out my hand, daring them
To take it, hoping that together
We might lead each other away
The one by sight, the other by feel.
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