Ghost Forest

It was spring in name but not in substance, a freezing wind blowing in their faces, Washington with a moustache and Lincoln without a beard. They marched straight into the ghost forest, so-called because of all the dead trees, which resembled ironic gray pillars carved from the bones of giants. After walking 10 minutes, and not hearing or seeing a single bird, they encountered Delilah of the Bible, naked to the waist, bathing in a stream despite the rotting fish floating on the surface. They didn’t stop to gawk. If anything, they picked up their pace. There was something they had to do. They had to liquidate the more disreputable parts of the past. They didn’t know how they would do it exactly. They just knew from the pressure of tears behind their eyes that it had to be done.

Howie Good

Howie Good's most recent poetry collection is "Gunmetal Sky", available from Thirty West Publishing.