ghost sister poems

STEPHANIE HEIT 

“Homonymous”

There were two sisters both named the same name. The difference was one was Dead and one was Alive. The Parents thought they didn’t know about each other. But Dead Sister and Alive Sister spoke at night and underwater. The Parents called their name but only Alive Sister responded. What they didn’t know was that Dead Sister responded too. And the sisters called each other, through these uncertain spaces, not sure of each other but also sure.

                                                  “Lakebed”

I feel you on the other side
of window, dark, our name
on their tongues

three syllable rhythm
I harbor behind clenched teeth
I wait in the night

for your tiny non-hand hands 
to cup my ears
transmit sound of waves

vibrations grow
in my tailbone,
crescent moons in palms, bitten 

cheeks below dermis
so cold your unfilled lungs
slosh pretty

your finger & toe webs
bloody sunken futures
sweetwater sisterhood

“Sister Contrails”

I wake welted.
Night scratches ripple my skin
where she tried to get in

or out of my body. I drape across
the queen length, span the width. Crowd
her from my bed. Check closets for pulse.

 Oh bloodless one!

How silly I am to mistake you
as symptoms of living. Deadbait.
Never born.

How long are your
fingernails? Toenails?
Do you have any hair?

Stephanie Heit (she/her) is a queer disabled poet, dancer, teacher, and codirector of Turtle Disco, a somatic writing space on Anishinaabe land in Ypsilanti, Michigan. She is the author of PSYCH MURDERS (Wayne State University Press, 2022) and The Color She Gave Gravity (Operating System, 2017). Website: https://stephanie-heit.com  

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