There is a banshee watching me from the roof,
Chewing on fat and looking for proof.
Six whole years have passed since I left the town,
I still look like a runaway bride in her gown.
And city sunsets take away the spinning demeanor.
The tongues of my ghosts only get meaner.
Moon projects my birthplace onto the ceiling.
There is no healing from this empty feeling.
There is a banshee wailing on my windowsill.
The room goes out of focus, but I stay still.
Six whole years spent running as fast as I can
Come crumbling down under fate’s wingspan.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 