there are ghosts in my house 

lingering in all the corners where the light barely brushes 

sliding silently down the banisters 

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my mom used to turn on the tv 

and there was a woman there 

with short sunshine hair 

who danced 

and we did too 

my small head bobbing 

her arms whirling 

pushing away invisible ghosts 

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and when I dry the china 

an embroidered yellowed cloth becoming one part thread and two parts water 

I build a tower with the plates 

the one slotting into its nest on top sending earthquake shivers all the way down 

the clangs sting my bones 

and the ghosts feel it too 

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did you know 

I don’t know how to say goodnight 

because we say it two three four hundred times 

that I no longer believe the first one 

but my last goodnight is to the ghosts 

whispers whirling around me 

and the warm glow of hotel hallway lighting 

as I drift