Where are my ghosts?

Wheat & Tares

When I dream of after death,
my ambition makes Heaven
a cubbyhole. God’s place,
snug in a grove, seems nice
enough. Yet I step out from it.
I whittle Time’s Arrow down
to chips, shred them down
to dust grains, mull them down
to molecules. I press these
into a skyscraping stack of cards.
Smirking, I shuffle epochs.
Giggling, I fan all space-time
out, grinning as it spreads
easily at my bidding, or…

I wake alone on the flank
of a grand old battlefield.
I’ve visited it many times
and never want to leave
for long. The hillside taught
me heroism, how to be a man,
how to die well.

I walk the Dutch ground pining:
Where are my ghosts?
They were there when 3rd grade
me wanted only replica cannon
on which to climb; when teen
geek me came alone to read
on boulders out of tourism’s
way; when…

View original post 379 more words

Author: Jake Christensen

Jake Christensen is a Michigan-based writer currently exploring his Mormon heritage through poetry. Also a space enthusiast, he has attended NASA Socials at Glenn Research Center and Goddard Space Flight Center. In addition to past performances in regional and educational theater, Jake periodically appears in Moth StorySLAMs.

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