what the ghost thinks of me this rose shell is recalcitrant: although i have led her to water every night, proposed skeleton keys and bloodletting, she prefers to take flight, to stay intact, suffer. i have run out of hands to launch her to ocean. with moon tides, i invite her return. she turns her face away from me and runs, scrambles for distractions in these dry sediments, structures of solitude: will he save her, will she save her, will they? her predictive patterns are musical – i enjoy a listen – but lengthy and repetitive. when i unpeel my face from this one storyline, and before i witness the next embodiment, i will say this: that it was difficult. interesting, but difficult.
Lorelei Bacht is a poetic experiment, a beautifully broken body, and a mother to two young children. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Beir Bua, Dodging the Rain, The Madrigal, Briefly Zine, The Selkie, Green Ink Poetry, streecake, Marble Poetry, and elsewhere. She is also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer and on Twitter @bachtlorelei
Amethyst Review 