St. Kilda

Ghosts bristle from the grimy
grout of cobbles and tiles. Foot

-paths, the Ouija board. Feet
pulled by forces to trace, decrypt

names. Whispers just audible
to haunted ears. Pedestrians

strollers and filth, endless
streets. My mind an accomplice

a terrified toddler, curious
climbs the steps toward the attic

a house planted on dead memories.
Eyes catch shadows, shoes

read the Braille of faces. Shades
surface beneath my boots, blacken

the soles on the sullen trail,
a ghost-infested city. 

View this poem on The Disappearing »