A Poem by Michelle Penn
ghost studio
I
come and find it, the smoky fake, the delectable lie, just
a touch of darkroom magic and the dead
live, hover in spirit-white beside you—sitter, mourner
aching to hold the lost, come,
let them cast a diaphanous arm across your shoulders
call this a gift, a body of belief—you who want so badly
to believe a little technological twist
for war widows and spinsters
you can even pose with Napoleon or the good General
Robert E Lee—this time no one will leave you, no one
will die what is done can be undone
oh yes, I know: those ghosts were once the fence
between you and death
II
charlatan show me what I want to see
I crave the mist / veil / illusion
set up your camera walk me through
the motions do I simply sit and
he’ll / she’ll / they’ll drift in glowing presence
captured on glass? how will I know
it's my ghost and not someone else's
tell me, kind liar because logic
has the most unpleasant way of seeping in
insidious stain and I need this I need
to believe it's not just dust on plate, a smear
on the lens I need his / her / their
star swelling consuming me with its breath
Michelle Penn’s debut chapbook, Self-portrait as a diviner, failing (2018), won the Paper Swans Prize. Recent poetry has appeared in The Rialto, Perverse, MIR Online, and The Amsterdam Quarterly. New work is forthcoming in The London Magazine, The Interpreter’s House, PN Review, and Stand. Michelle plans innovative poetry/art/music events in London as part of Corrupted Poetry. She is also a member of Malika’s Poetry Kitchen. michellepennwriter.com