haunted

i am obsessed with little ghosts. little ghosts with little faces cut out in little sheets and i like to imagine if you pull the sheet off it reveals a different colored sheet and a confused little ghost face asking “why did you disrobe me?”

i’m getting a tattoo of a little ghost next week and i’m wondering if they will be staring straight on or wearing a floral bed sheet or holding out a flower, an offering. or maybe they’re holding out a muffin in their two ghost hands, their little ghost eyes saying ‘i made this. i knew you were hungry.’

i want to be haunted. i’d never be lonely. i think of my loved ones who have passed, who didn’t want to go to either place so they stuck around. my uncle, cancer free, in a blue striped sheet, frying spam in the kitchen. my uncle sonny in a bold graphic print putting donna summer on the record player. david, a sheet covered in his tattoos and his ear gauges, with a little red beard, making mint juleps in red plastic solo cups, passing them to dome, who would insist on a black sheet but make it silk because he’s baller like that. we’d still make him call in the delivery order in thai so we could benefit from the family discount and extra spring rolls.

and sweet otis would be in his cow print. nothing more soul crushing than a dog in a ghost sheet. otis, the low rider with silkiest black ears and the saddest eyes, trying to fit himself into tiny chihuahua sized beds. for shame. dogs don’t deserve broken hearts after finding their forever families.

there’s me. simple solid sheet with an impressive thread count because i like a classic white with a crisp but soft hand. i’d embroider flowers around my eyes and vines and marigolds down my arms, maybe some acorns around my wrists like bracelets. i can’t be parading around in a plain white sheet these days. i need to be dressed like the happiest tablecloth surrounded by my most favorite spirits.