The first time I saw a ghost, I was a small child lying in bed. Overhead in pitch darkness, her light drew near and retreated–drew near and retreated–in unnatural rhythm and pattern unrepeated. It wouldn’t be the last time some strange and inexplicable thing I’d encounter. Twenty years later, I’d reach out for disbelief to be shattered in the thrill of hearing, “Holy God, help me. Pray!” I have not yet shaken the chill, still riding my spine.
Where were you when God lost his way? When his silence spurned debates over who to love and who to hate? Where were you when love we crucified, or when we throttled grace until it died? Premeditated murder in first degree. Even these, my hands, are bloody.
She fell like rain. Like a star. Graceful Up until the crash. A lifetime of being there Until one day she wasn’t. Gone in an instant. Erased from time. Leaving behind Only the smudge lines of her smile.