When i say i want to haunt you 
i don't mean like a shadow;
joining the hallways and 
the possession of an oven door

when i say i want to haunt you
i mean it only because 
i'm falling in love with you--
i promise not scare you
too often from around the curve
of a corridor or
from behind the closet door--
i'll refrain from
becoming the seeping 
silhouette of another maple tree vein
in through your windowsill--
at night i'm just another ghost
in this house with 
glass windows to eat the moon--
hold my hand as a shadow--
i don't know if you're one for 
a lightning storm 
but i want 
to watch the sky crack into 
pieces with you-- watch 
the clouds gnaw holes 
in the night sky with their 
teeth--
this is what i meant when i say
i want to haunt you--
i mean if i were to fall out
a window i would like
to bind my body to this ground
rather than risk a gate--
i think of you like a door frame--
like a loose door knob
dropped on the carpet--
i'm a girl-body of lost keys
so if i walk this hallway enough
times maybe the floor boards 
will change it into a staircase
for us--
the wood bones moan while the 
house takes a breath--
i've been a body for staying
with that is safe-- and
i know these other ghosts from
the foot of my old bunk bed--
clap three times to wake you
up at midnight to remind you
to forget another key 
in the well of a pillowcase--
this is how we get lost from our
bodies--
out a window-- in staircase
-- burned into a radiator--
when i was 10 i was afraid of the
staircase from the kitchen
to the sun room 
because it didn't used to have windows--
it was a perfect place to frame a portrait--
let the gravity weigh your body 
in floor boards--
my parents told my brother and i
someone had taken their life there--
let the kitchen pull
their body 
down
down
into the open mouth 
of a cold oven-- 
aren't we all afraid of hallways? 
but it was me who fell out the window--
i want to haunt you so you
don't use hallways alone-- 
i'll keep the trees from
letting their arms turn into snakes--
the old woman who owned the 
house before us
wakes up at 2:45 am to 
make cookies with me-- she
always forgets the sugar--
so i steal some 
from under the radiator--
possess the living room with 
the smell of a vague holiday
or blushed chocolate chips--
this is how i haunt
your counter top with cookies-- 
the open and close of an
oven door like a picture book--
i'm leaving you strawberry 
shortcakes in
the cupboard when you least expect
it-- and sometimes when you
leave
i'll get lonely 
and throw brownies 
out the window-- water 
your plant from the windowsill--
i tell the old woman
who died in the living room
to stop trying to start conversations
with you over breakfast--
i tell her that sometimes
it's impolite 
to converse with the living--
i'm different because
i don't haunt you like
a shadow--
i haunt you like an oven door
a windowsill--
the sound of the house cracking
her back at night
when the moon is hungry again--
i'm here waiting in the back
of the closet 
under some sweaters and 
orphaned socks
holding another plate of meringues--
oh you won't be alone down
a hallway-- hold hands with the 
shadows
it's only me.