Fall 2017 final digital.pdf


Paper Lanterns
Kate Marquam

the ghosts of  the undead write 
themselves into the strangest 
places.  the signature in a painting 

on my wall, the restaurant I walk 
past weekly but haven’t entered 
since the holiday art gala when 

 
swirling wine in the bottom of  a blue 
plastic cup printed with the name 

of  a charity.  after dinner while everyone 
 

Tenth of  2001 he was in the twin 

towers, and what if  the planes 
had come a day early?  then he pressed 

 

and wished me a Merry Christmas.  
I didn’t throw the tin away until 

 

 
 

poems for answers, like when I wrote 

that his ribcage was made 
of  rice paper. he tore so easily 
but goddamn, he could light up 

a room.  the ghosts of  the undead 
write themselves into the strangest 



Kate Marquam

places, and when I say undead I mean 
 
alive and maybe happy somewhere 
else.  I mean maybe someday we’ll 

 
 
and I’ll tell him that I’ve tried to write 
myself  out of  loving him for three years now, 
but still can’t take his painting down.