1905
When she sees Leland strolling down the
street,
she calls to him, she waves. He—vanishes.
Blinking, pulls back, fights
to find that resolution
keeps her head above her feet,
poor Leland dead these dozen years. She
keeps
a course as steady as she can, this
desert
life without him. No, no, watch the
resolution,
look, you’re walking down the street,
your feet below your head. It’s Leland’s
dead.
Stride softening, she holds the
resolution
tight, she focuses on feet in shoes,
on hands, on—eyes. She’ll take a trip.
Instead
of train, she’ll go by boat, one way to
lose
this—well-trained ghost. She grins. Dear
Leland. Thee I shed.
Kate Adams