Window Seat

WINDOW SEAT

By Logan Elizabeth Craig

A ghost sits by me from York to Peterborough unbothered & unbothering. She knows I am at peace. So unafraid that maybe I’m the ghost to her. Nothing to latch onto. I already know I will be fresh-squeezed, drippings of grace, no bitter fear. She could grab the pit and bite but I’m confident her teeth would splinter like old wood underneath the smallest footsteps. But she makes no grab, only whispering in her breath to live. To live.