"Lindsay's Münster at Night" by Nuala McEvoy
Julie Weiss | Ghost Story
Lately, everything in your room rasps,
swishes. The curtains, their pleats
rearranged like waves the instant
you look away. Class pictures,
snatched off the wall between twists
of your Rubik´s cube. And the window
is shut, you say, your words spooked
trouts, flopping in a net woven from books,
movies, Halloween parties, playground
prattle. We´ve been sparring for days,
my but´s no match for your conviction.
Your visitors come floating in unannounced,
shenanigans up their sheets. The night
your bed drifted half an inch forward
while you and your sister were bickering.
Your favorite marble, not misplaced
but teleported. At your worst, you won´t
open the closet, certain your clothes
have grown bodies cold enough to blue
your skin, descale your voice. I´ve devised
666 ways to spell nonsense, despite
flailing in my own dismay whenever
an unidentified light flickers, or my keys,
dangling from a hook I never use, jangle
like a prank. You can´t fall asleep
without all thirteen stuffed animals sitting
in a semi-circle around your pillow
performing some ancient exorcism.
Something crashes in the kitchen.
Not even Casper could unknot your fingers
from mine. Or mine from yours.
swishes. The curtains, their pleats
rearranged like waves the instant
you look away. Class pictures,
snatched off the wall between twists
of your Rubik´s cube. And the window
is shut, you say, your words spooked
trouts, flopping in a net woven from books,
movies, Halloween parties, playground
prattle. We´ve been sparring for days,
my but´s no match for your conviction.
Your visitors come floating in unannounced,
shenanigans up their sheets. The night
your bed drifted half an inch forward
while you and your sister were bickering.
Your favorite marble, not misplaced
but teleported. At your worst, you won´t
open the closet, certain your clothes
have grown bodies cold enough to blue
your skin, descale your voice. I´ve devised
666 ways to spell nonsense, despite
flailing in my own dismay whenever
an unidentified light flickers, or my keys,
dangling from a hook I never use, jangle
like a prank. You can´t fall asleep
without all thirteen stuffed animals sitting
in a semi-circle around your pillow
performing some ancient exorcism.
Something crashes in the kitchen.
Not even Casper could unknot your fingers
from mine. Or mine from yours.
Julie Weiss (she/her) is the author of The Places We Empty, her debut collection published by Kelsay books, and two chapbooks, The Jolt and Breath Ablaze: Twenty-One Love Poems in Homage to Adrienne Rich, Volumes I and II, published by Bottlecap Press. Her second collection, Rooming with Elephants, is forthcoming in 2025 with Kelsay Books. "Poem Written in the Eight Seconds I Lost Sight of My Children" was selected as a 2023 finalist for Best of the Net. She won Sheila-Na-Gig´s editor´s choice award for "Cumbre Vieja," was named a finalist for the 2022 Saguaro Prize, and was shortlisted for Kissing Dynamite´s 2021 Microchap Series. Her work appears in Chesnut Review, ONE ART, Rust + Moth, Sky Island Journal, and others. Originally from California, she lives with her wife and children in Spain. You can find her at https://www.julieweisspoet.com/.
Nuala McEvoy is an English/Irish artist and writer currently living between Germany and Spain. Nuala paints places she has visited using her memory and her imagination. Nuala has had two exhibitions in Münster, Germany, and is currently preparing an exhibition in London.
nualamcevoy | Instagram | Linktree
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nualamcevoy | Instagram | Linktree
x @mcevoy_nuala
