The Bird of Paradise in the second floor of the haunted hotel speaks

BY Margaret bashaar

I was a woman once, a witch.
Do not misunderstand -
I have lived in no bog,
worn no pointed party store hat.
I am not ancient.
To ask how I became a bird
would be to ask how
a scar formed, the split of cells,
their regrowing over and over.
There were so many serial killers
to fall in love with those days,
so many Satanists. How is a girl
supposed to pick just one?
And honey, I am more than this
unreal body, these glass eyes
purchased at auction.
We are all here to burn
the ghosts from this haunted candle.
We will all throw it in the river
when we’re through,
so give me a big red button to push.
Darling, I’ll show you paradise.


Ghost Ocean 10

Margaret reads "The Bird of Paradise..."

Margaret Bashaar's most recent chapbook, Letters from Room 27 of the Grand Midway Hotel, was published by by Blood Pudding Press in 2011. She edits the chapbook micro press Hyacinth Girl Press and her poetry has also appeared in publications such as elimae, Caketrain, So to Speak, Boxcar Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband, her son, and far too many typewriters which may or may not be haunted.