Little Lost Ghosts


Artist Unknown

The front door isn’t locked, the key is rusted under the moldy green welcome mat.

The windows aren’t latched, the curtains hanging in the remaining crusty windows look like cobwebs and when the wind

blows the dust from the panes little chunks of dried out bugs and bleached peach colored  threads drift into the rooms and aimlessly float like little lost ghosts.


There’s mail in the mailbox at the end of the drive, some of the mail is addressed to occupant

some it  says above the house number and the street name, the city and the state: ” are

you still alive? “

There’s a swing under the tree and a dog bowl covered with weeds

by the picnic table turned upside down by the walkway out back.

A headless garden gnome and half of a terracotta frog are under a rose bush at the side door.

 The gnome’s head is

eyeless and it’s on the back porch starring up at the porch light, his eyebrows are arched in surprise.

The frog’s legs next to the Gnome’s head are torn and mangled and they are slowly turning to dust. But sometimes, when it rains they twitch. Just a little bit.

Every day I go a little closer to the house.

I know where the key is, I know the door isn’t locked.

And I’ve seen those letters in the mail box, addressed to ” Are You Still Alive “

I know it’s just a matter of time, before I go in.

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