my friend says he didn’t call
after driving from an ex-lover’s house last month

when the morning came and he crawled from the window
which poured light into the space

he left in the bed. he tells me this is called ghosting
or, what it means to be defined only by the emptiness that once held you

I ghost everything
a man hands me a sandwich

says I’ll see you tomorrow
and I begin to disappear

I come from a fleeing people
first land and then lovers

I have a collection of both over each shoulder
turns out there’s no good way to become dust

turns out there’s no such thing
as a clean exit

my mother ghosted into the fortunate dawn
that gently gathered her in its yellow palms

I was carried here by a vanishing woman
I was born vanishing

I am a nation of vacancies
a haunting of sorrow

I have borders around my borders
one hundred abandoned tongues

scattered across the walls of a dark room
I count them until I fall asleep

I wake and remember only a harsh shadow
I love nothing that can see its own reflection.