My grandmother’s stories monopolized
set my inner compass and fertilized
psychic powers I came to realize
a sixth sense experience normalized
Mystical child impelled to speak my truth
the wraiths I saw encouraged me to sleuth
unraveling ancestral gifts. Stories
told, frazzling matrilineal geas
like fortresses of stone protecting arts
that propaganda criminalized. Parts
of us hidden deep, coaxed out by ghost tales
on the verge of sleep, where insight dovetails.
This poem dedicated to my Irish grandmother (featured image) who told me many spine-tingling stories of the ghosts she encountered.