Trespassers
By Brian Rosenberger
A glimpse is all they afford. A face in the windshield of a parked car. A reflection in a puddle. In the eyes of an infrequent lover. They are people you almost remember, like the gossamers of a wonderful dream, forever lost upon waking.
God, how you wish they would remain lost.
Instead you continue to see them. In a movie theatre’s darkness, at the bars you frequent, in your rearview mirror. You and no one else.
Church doesn’t scare them. Neither does trips to the dentist. Nor threats of suicide.
Alone with the question. Who haunts who?
- - -
Brian Rosenberger lives in a cellar in Marietta, GA and writes by the light of captured fireflies. He is the author of two previous poetry collections. As the Worm Turns, a collection of short stories, was released in 2010.
By Brian Rosenberger
A glimpse is all they afford. A face in the windshield of a parked car. A reflection in a puddle. In the eyes of an infrequent lover. They are people you almost remember, like the gossamers of a wonderful dream, forever lost upon waking.
God, how you wish they would remain lost.
Instead you continue to see them. In a movie theatre’s darkness, at the bars you frequent, in your rearview mirror. You and no one else.
Church doesn’t scare them. Neither does trips to the dentist. Nor threats of suicide.
Alone with the question. Who haunts who?
- - -
Brian Rosenberger lives in a cellar in Marietta, GA and writes by the light of captured fireflies. He is the author of two previous poetry collections. As the Worm Turns, a collection of short stories, was released in 2010.
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