approximation of ghosthouse

it's a lake house. or a lighthouse. a cottage mangled by willow trees. maybe your childhood home. the boy you loved at fifteen standing on the front porch. peering out the front window. sprawled on the roof. or maybe it's the boy you love now. squint your eyes hard enough and it looks like you, standing there at the edge of the lawn. a blue dress is slung over the balcony like a body & the moon is above you in a glass box. or maybe it’s below you. the moon not a moon but a face. your brother’s face, looking up at you. he’s in the lake house attic. or in the lantern room. or in the treehouse. or in your bedroom, the one you shared. he’s pinching roly-polys between his fingers until they explode. he’s holding the neck of a rabbit between his hands and threatening to strangle it. or maybe your brother was never there. maybe he escaped out the window years ago. the dust clears and you’re alone in the room with your grandfather. his ashes rising from his urn in the shape of a body. even though he died without you knowing. even though you don’t believe in ghosts. down the road is the lake. or the ocean. the forest. or maybe your father, standing with his hands in his pockets. the places where the concrete scraped your knees forming bloodlines on the pavement. willow trees churning. maybe it is your father—standing in the shadow of his boyhood. his mouth the front door. his limbs the stairwells. the darkness creaking open.

Ocean Teu (he/they) is a writer and student at Kenyon College. Other than writing he enjoys crocheting, going to drive in movies, and drawing doodles of cats.