Shattered window on other side, on either side of hinged and handled yellow glowing.
Postal paranoid schizophrenic wields knife, breaks glass, chases neighbors through
pale light halls, down old worn floorboards bending. November night punctuated with
barking dogs, sobbing sirens, mind that cracks in wave, wave, wave. “She spat at
me twice, once two days ago,” Fiona says in nervous laughter.
With eyes in the front and back of her head, with what the voices told her to do,
windows always glow gold on the outside looking in. Just 9 officers to escort, 9
neighbors to witness, woman turned yuurei. Disease of cells, dividing, dividing
into selves, neighbor against neighbor. Alone save for TV cranked. Decibel overload.
It should not mistakenly be imagined that this realm is devoid of light. It has food,
clothing, and houses of various kinds, similar to those of the visible world...
The darkness, however, is only comparative.
Legless she glides across tatami, long black hair covering face. Wearing kimono?
Old, white nightgown with edges of lace?
Obake from Bakeru, to change, transform
She stops at foot of marriage “bed” of futon lain out in closet. Parts dark hair
with pale moon rising. Makes contact ghosting, and touches blue eyes- awake, a still
bead, still bed of time. His love is Her grin. Like soft pink sponge lips, fertile
belly where clown anemone hide, the most serene smile. Bubbly joy, a bottle of champagne. She rises on wave and wave. Good auspices of the living.