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The Broken Window
April 23, 2012
She tapped.
Once,
Twice.
Thrice.
“Please leave,”
My voice called into the gloom.
No one answered.
So I went to get the broom.
“Shoo! Shoo I say!”
Shaking the broom at a shadow.
“Spirits begone!”
My heartbeat became shallow.
It moved.
Swirling, and spiraling.
I grabbed my gun,
And began firing.
It flew through the window.
It shattered.
Now, my wife’s a widow.
And my grave firmly patted.
A piece flew to my heart.
Instantly killing.
Now, a ghost.
God be willing.
© Claire H., Boxford, MA
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