on coming of age

at first, just whispers. the dead bird at the old apartment.
burnt hair & no shows. the stench of being forgotten.
darkness, for sure, but more cloak than night.
more bad dreams & pretend.

when the shadow finally moves in, it brings all its baggage.
clutters the whole house. you see how it lives,
all mirrors & sharp edges. it grows wings, becomes
more than nuisance, asks you to look it in the eyes and tell you what you see.
say nothing. or not enough. either way, ghost. become bitter. become unforgiving.
do not apologize for the charity, since you too are looking to fill space, and after all,
it is you who has given one; remember that there must first be a home to haunt.
say: better a bleeding heart than a blind eye, though one will likely kill you first.
consider that its own kind of shadow.

when you find the saved messages on your mother's old cell phone, the darkness smiles
and welcomes you in. you are no stranger. read about witchcraft & pharmaceuticals.
about cages  & what we lock away in them. stay up late talking to god or ghosts,
find the moon bobbing in your cereal bowl. swallow it and become the night. listen for the crickets.

when a stranger beckons from upstairs, promise you will not go.
promise that you will one day return, alone & empty handed.