when we can no longer pass

for Living, let’s disguise ourselves

as ghosts, steal the still warm


wedding sheets veil our pink skins

with white linen. ignore the floral

print, the wayward threads.


let people wonder

at the wisps and cusps of our

whispered conversations;



avenge me



let’s lead children astray

down wishing wells, wail

with widows on Wednesdays, cross those


burnt bridges to the attics of our once

well-meaning friends. make our way

to their torch-lit porches, wave at them


the words of Aaron, with one quick

edit: Let not your sorrow die, though

I am not dead.




Mary Elzabeth Lee lives in Red Lion, PA. She attends Penn State York where she is the co-editor of Any Other Word. Her poems have appeared in Parody Magazine, The Golden Key, and Bellow Magazine.