Three Ghosts
I sit at the table with three ghosts who used to be apologies
they marvel at the potential of themselves
those ones who circle the fishbowl of my heart.
We chew the fat and bet the bones.
I sit at the window with three loves who used to be questions
they speak in numbers
cause math like love translates the same in every language.
We carve the equation of maybe into our thighs.
I sit in the garden with three angels who used to be possibilities
they mind the larkspur and they listen
making winter cloaks for the sparrow.
We consider the feelings of the artichoke
— Hannah Wehr