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The green ghost comes every spring

wrapped in flowers and birds

growing vines up brick and mortar--

cement covered with fertile dust

that grows weeds in the cracks.

I raise the collar of my jacket up around my neck

to hold the cold in a little longer

as I ride my bicycle past your house

and call your name held silent just under my tongue

to come out and play.

Every spring I see your green ghost rising

with the dandelions, laughing

as you pluck their heads off

dispersing their seeds into the air

just like your head was blown off in war.

Lynette G. Esposito, MA (Rutgers), has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Reader's Digest, Front Porch, Poets of Promise, LitShark, and others. She was married to Attilio Esposito, and lives in Southern New Jersey.