I wonder at the power of words, that – lit
by lamplight crescents – they might lie
beside my bed by night, book bound
and safe, inspiring no unease in me.
Yet, were I to lift the leather lid of this
Pandora’s box, releasing ghosts in the
gloaming, there would be no putting them
back into the words again – spirits unbound.
Manacled as the wordwights are, my nights
are safe and sinister-soundless. The cat purrs,
the boiler rumbles, the cars shush by on the wet
road beneath my darkened windowsill. Still.
But, should the cat raise his head in the dark
of the witching hour, caught in the power
of the night, I might remember the words
I released in the past – ghosts of bygone stories.
This was inspired by Megan Taylor’s deliciously haunting stories. I read them by daylight. She’s a superb Nottingham author and you can find out more about her here: About Megan Taylor