ghost tourists 

i used to never lock my door
until i met you. 
when i lived in the mountains
truthfully, i liked to let the spirits in.
i am not someone who puts salt
at the door or even a jar of beans.
i lived alone & i appreciated the company.
they would treat my living room
like a gift shop. stolen picture frames 
& jars from the shelf. 
only once in awhile did they take something
that i actually missed. one night, a camera
& another time the only physical picture
i ever had of us. sometimes though
i think the ghosts take what we know
we can no longer carry. i never questioned 
them about where they came from
or why they chose my apartment.
i did sometimes ask them
where they were going. i lied once
& said, "i am a ghost too." they all laughed.
they told me there is a word for
a human who is already a ghost.
they call them "lanterns." i am not sure
if it is because we wait outside the doors
of ourselves or if there is unknowable lore
from the ghost realm. the only problem
with leaving a door unlocked is that
they come to expect your hospitality.
one night they knocked from dusk
until dawn. i said, "please, i am just trying
to sew my fingers back on." it was true.
i was coming apart. you are the company
you keep which is to say i understand
why we lock the front door.
you have to forgive me though because
sometimes, when i miss them,
i will go & sit on the front steps
of our house. they always come. 
i tell them they can pick from
the shards of broken flower pots
but sometimes i bring them leftover thread 
& orphaned beads. they ask,
"when will the museum reopen?"
i do not answer because i do not know
how to say, "this is not a museum anymore,
this is my life."