so shestill does her job. Keeps secrets, tells lies.
Whenother families worry themselves sick
‘causethey see their loved ones with ghosts in their eyes.
Watchingevery window; she lurks at each door.
Shewelcomes each patient with speeches prepared.
Showsthe facility, gives families the tour.
Showseach state-of-the-art room—except downstairs.
ModernizedVictorian, at the road’s end.
Privateyet accessible—it’s rated as best.
Onehundred fifty acres usable land.
Yet sheknows ghosts wander at Pinehaven Rest.
“Momma,I promise, this is all for the best.”
Theyall say that, you know,she says in her head,
asthey walk through the doors of Pinehaven Rest.
Theycheck for quality food, what type of bed,
ifthere’s mentally stimulating programs,
and ifthe nurses all know how to read ‘scripts.
‘Causeit’s Dad or it’s Mom or it’s Dearest Grams,
andthe last argument ended in tearful fits.
PinehavenRest is the old Audaire home.
Andthe doctor is third generation heir
to thehouse, to the land, to every stone
ofthis practice—and all those under his care.
He’sfollowed the footsteps of family pride.
Notone doctorate, he has many degrees.
Inpsychiatry’s realm, he’s been published wide;
morehushed is his work in occult psychi’try.
Visitorscome—all flowers and cheery glow.
Spiritssoon wane within the Asphodel suites.
“Ofcourse, I remember, that thing what...you know?
Thattime, with those people. Your favorite treats.”
“Doesshe even know me? Who I am? I’m here...”
“He’sjust a little out of it. Anxiety.
Wejust gave him some meds. There’s nothing to fear.”
“Whatdo they stare at? It’s like no one can see.”
Nurse Emma,she knows what her patients do see.
She’swatched enough patients have their ghosts pushed out.
DoctorAudaire said he was searching to free
hispatients from mortal fear and soulful doubt.
If apatient could be outside the body
andreturn, safe and sound, a small taste of death—
whyworry, afterlife’s promise was shoddy.
Epiphany’sprice—he steals but a few breaths.
2.
Shewatches. She watches. She watches their eyes.
Shewatches. She watches. In silence, she lies.
Penancefor silence, see the ghosts in their eyes.
“Atthe next rest stop, can we please have a smoke?”
“I’mtrying to quit, Gram,” Cass weakly protests.
“Besides,you’re on oxygen—you shouldn’t smoke!”
“Evencriminals condemned get their last cigarette.
“Gramplease,” Cass begs, “This isn’t some sentence—”
“It’sfor my own good. So you told me. I know.”
Sickto her stomach, Cass wonders her penance.
AllGram can think is I am making her go.
Thekids shouldn’t have to live through extra fear.
Worryingif Gram should forget meds or fall.
Seeingher hide crumpled butts, sneaking Dan’s beer.
No kidshould make those daily 9-1-1 calls.
Medicine.Money. Care. So many reasons.
Gramwould be better off at Pinehaven Rest.
Cassturns off the highway. Necessary treason.
Shereaches for her lighter and cigarettes.
“Gram,look, there’s even Bingo, like at St. Joe’s.”
Withnarrow eyes, Gram asks, “So why all the glass?
Idon’t play Bingo on display, for a show.
That’swhat it looks like, a zoo. Take me home, Cass.”
“Mrs.Bihari, please, just give us a chance—”
“It’s Ms.and no. Leave us. Why can’t I stay home?”
Cassglares tears at the floor, shifts a nervous dance.
“It’snot safe for the kids if you come back home.”
“Nonsense!”cries the woman, stopping short to cough.
“Gramma,please. They followed you into the forest
whenyou left your O2 tank. You all got lost!”
“Soyou just put me in a warehouse of corpses?
I wasfine! So were they! Was an adventure.
Thetank would have only just slowed us all down.
Andwho’s this woman acting this show, this tour—”
“NurseEmma, Gram. Please. Let her show us around?”
Nursessay Teresa, not Terezia.
Shetells Cass when she visits. “Such rude manners!”
Casslistens and tutors, “Please, Tay-rey-tzee-ya.”
Emmanods, writes phonetics on the planner.
“Idon’t trust people here. Don’t you feel the air?”
“It’sdry,” Cass agrees, “And too warm, I suppose...”
“Mostpeople her age get chilled, so we take care,”
NurseEmma explains. “Extra heat. Extra clothes.”
“It’sto hide all the ghosts,” Terezia says.
“Whatghosts?” Nurse Emma asks, fooling just Cass.
“Gram,there are no ghosts. Let the dead just stay dead.
Youknow, your stories got Nick sent home from class?
It’ssafe here for you, Gram. I promise; I swear.”
“Dearchild you know not what you speak. And I
dismissfoolish vows. And I don’t speak from fear.
Buttake care if you see there’s a ghost in my eye.”
3.
Shewatches. She watches. She watches their eyes.
Shewatches. She watches. In silence, she sighs.
Penancefor silence, see the ghosts in their eyes.
Thedoctor hadn’t known that Nurse Emma was there.
She’dgone downstairs, though she knew it forbidden;
herpatient was begging for Doctor Audaire.
Tothis day, she still keeps what she saw hidden.
Twopatients bound to tables, wired, side-by-side.
Softwords from the lips of the Doctor Audaire.
A cupof liquid drunk. A switch thrown. Both died.
Onlyfor a moment. Their spirits in air.
Zaggingroads of lightning redirected to hosts.
Bothopened their eyes wide. Their eyes weren’t their own.
Eachlooked at each other. And saw each their ghosts.
Trappedinside. Dead alive. Foreign skin, wrong bone.
Throwthe switch. Lightning flare. Free spirits once more.
Theysought their own bodies—Audaire spoke their names.
Holdingthem moments more, light pulled from their cores.
Thoughback to their bodies, neither was the same.
Onceloosened from body, spirits are bolder.
Whatthe doctor has stolen, they now must steal.
From abody less sick, one that’s less older.
Pushout someone’s ghost, and from stolen life heal.
Andthen when their time comes to pass, they do stay.
Holdingonto this world, unfamiliar eyes stare
atchildren, grandchildren, the loved ones who pray
apiece of mom or dad or grandma is there.
Andwhat from this torture gets Doctor Audaire?
Alittle more life, the power of a god.
Knowledge,secrets, of such so few are aware.
“Youlook young for your age.” Vanity does nod.
If heknows, if he cares, what loosed spirits do—
NurseEmma can’t tell and would never dare ask.
Surroundedby ghosts dead and still living too,
shecalms worried fam’lies; fear keeps her on task.
“NurseEmma, my office. It’s time that we talk.”
DoctorAudaire turned around, walked down the stairs.
Shaking,quaking, Nurse Emma could hardly walk.
Butshe followed the doctor down those same stairs.
Hemotioned for her to sit by two empty
tables.She does, but wonders who lay there last.
“NurseEmma, look at me. Now, what did you see
whenyou came looking, down here, not two months past?”
“DoctorAudaire, if asked... I can’t really say...
Iwouldn’t say anything—see anything...
Imean...” She stopped, too scared to even pray.
“Youcare for your fam’ly. Your pay, your earnings?”
“I...yes.”She thought of her sister, nephews and—
“Yourfather, he’s getting well up in his years?
Youknow he can come here.” Audaire took her hand.
Dadwill never come here.Emma fought her tears.
4.
Shewatches. She watches. She watches their eyes.
Shewatches. She watches. In silence, she cries.
Penancefor silence, see the ghosts in their eyes.
“Why’sher hair not colored?” asks Cass one visit.
“Wepay for the service. It means much to her.”
“Lasttime we tried she attacked the assistant.
Withher anxiety, no one can touch her.”
“PerhapsI can come out... help and be near her?”
“Areyou
