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​East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​


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Ghosts


The perspective of the ghostwriter in
Viet Thanh Nguyen’s “Black-Eyed Women.”


How do you tell a ghost you’re sorry?
How do you even say hello?
How do you greet him, clothes all soggy,
Knowing what you now know?
How do you tell a ghost you miss him?
Or look him in his eyes, still swollen from the blow?
How do you ask about his journey
When the last time you spoke was decades ago?
How do you tell a ghost you love him?
Or pretend you didn’t watch him as he bled?
How do you tell someone that isn’t there,
That you wish it had been you instead?

2020


Where am I?
And where am I going?
This year’s been a blur
And it’s certainly showing


Motivation melted
Sometime back in May
Anxiety made its comeback
And is fighting hard to stay


I’m tired but I’m hopeful
I’m manifesting light
Just in case the clouds decide
To roll right out of sight


Until then I’ll remember
The things I love the most
The woman I’ve become
And that now is the time to VOTE

Savannah Shepard

I Seek a Home


                        A response to Tracy K. Smith’s “The United States Welcomes You.”


I was sent by the power of violence, poverty, oppression.
There is nothing that I wish to steal from you.
I dance because my mother danced, as her mother did before her.
And though my dark body looks different from yours,
I am also a person, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a human.
I demand nothing but your understanding
That I am not a thief or a robber or a criminal.
I’ve stolen nothing; my chest leaps because I am afraid of
This new life, new land, a new language I cannot understand.
The nature of my mission is to find refuge, nothing more.
I have no terrible confessions. I have nothing to do with any harm
that you have been through, though I am afraid that you might
not believe me. I am afraid that you might think I want
to take from you. I do not want to take anything
from you. I do not wish to invade. I arrive with my hands raised,
eyes wide, mute as a ghost because the last stranger
I looked in the eye made sure I regretted it.
I have my children with me; I am all they have, now.
None of our loved ones walk upon this Earth, and if they do, I do
not know where they are. It is simple: I am alone. I have left my
home because it is no longer safe. This is not some enigmatic type
of test, so you cannot fail, nor address anyone in any appeal.
I came because I had to, to stay alive, not to invade or steal.
I seek a home where my children can eat, can play, can wander.
I seek a home where I can look to tomorrow, instead of always
being afraid. I seek a home where I can be free.