The Turnstile


by Pavel Chichikov

For weeping ghosts there is no rest

The dim light of the Metro station

Hides their faces – light is shadow

To these half-substantial ghosts

One I saw from the police

Whose orders were to force confessions

By any means and he agreed –

Will his weeping ever cease?

I saw one who fed the swans

At Novodevichy

With gobbets of a prisoner's flesh –

Now a ghost he's still a living man

I saw one who pulled the heads

From children's dolls

To search for secret documents –

Is he not completely dead?

They watch the new immortals go

Through the turnstiles

Having paid the mortal fare –

But these are not allowed

All the dead who die today

Pass along through passages

Circuitous and straight

That lead them all away

Stopped, stopped, stymied

A ghost who needs to die

Since death will not be found –

Death to life allied

Until a victim whom he knew

Notices, and takes

The weeping phantom by the hand

And leads him through

Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.

Subscribe to CE
(It's free)

Go to Catholic Exchange homepage

MENU