By: Scott Ferry
The woman I dated when I was 27
used to explain that her father communicated
with her through streetlights, hallway lights,
electrical appliances of all types.
He committed suicide three years before.
I lost my father about the same time
so we navigated these dimly lit roads
together. We would be driving
in Long Beach, where all the lights
are tinged bitter orange,
and she would snap her head
towards a light that extinguished right
before we passed, then I would feel
her soften, sadden, close her
eyes with a secret grin,
reaching through the fabric
of night to hold one darkened
Scott Ferry helps our Veterans heal as a RN. He has recent work in Cultural Weekly, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Slippery Elm, and Swimming with Elephants, among others. He was a finalist in the 2019 Write Bloody Chapbook Contest. His first collection The only thing that makes sense is to grow will be published by Moon Tide Press in January 2020. You can find more of his work @ ferrypoetry.com.
"This poem came from real experiences that surfaced after seeing images of high-pressure sodium lamps, the same tangerine-tinted lights that illuminated an area of Long Beach, CA where the events took place. After my father died, psychic activity followed me. Whether I chose to believe it or not, it surrounded me for years. The woman I dated during this time also experienced some of the same phenomena: electrical disturbances, feelings of being watched, or of being overcome by presence of a loved one from the other side. I tried to capture the pang of loss but also the consolation that our fathers were possibly just across some veil of fog."