and I let your soul fly to heaven like a dove,

but do you mind if I

carry a piece of your spirit around with me?

I’ll keep it in my left pocket,

and take it out when I need your backbone,

I need your smile,

need your laughter.

Jade took his last name, as a sort of token, and took to wearing a ring he gave her on her left hand. She would never say if he married her, and we never found any wedding photos. Grandma didn’t seem to mind, as she never sought out anyone else.

Grandma Jade never strayed too far from the coast. Sure, we could coax her away, closer to family, for a few years, but within a decade she’d be back by the ocean. She could get by in any coastal town, but she preferred ports, no matter what size. Jade even moved from Santa Monica, saying it was too expensive, but she just moved up the coast  town by town, until she found Coos Bay. Less crowded, she said.

She’d spend nearly day at the beach, or on the docks. We knew not to check her house when we came to visit. Instead we combed the coastline until we found her.Every so often we’d see her gaze at the waves longingly, as if she was looking for someone. Our visits usually ended up being sandy picnics, crabbing, fishing, but Jade never took us shopping at the tourist traps. “I’d never find anything worth paying for.” She would say when asked.

Over the years the family visited less and less, until Grandma got sick in the spring. At first, we took turns, dropping by each weekend to check up on her, or if we could, we’d take days off work and school. Then summer hit, and Grandma Jade still hadn’t healed. Even then she refused to go to the hospital. So I packed a suitcase and moved to her place for however long it took.

We spent nearly all our time at the beach, only going home at night. No matter how late it was, we could always find our way home. Long after everyone had turned off their lights and went to bed, her house always had one light on. I knew she had a window facing the water in her bedroom. The candle that sat on her window sill never went out. Fishermen would always joke that they could see the light from the ocean.

Then she got too sick to go outside. I did everything I could, from opening the windows to let the draft in, to bringing her seashells I found every morning at the shore. Grandma Jade would smile at me tiredly, then toy with the seashell as if she wanted something else.

It took three days of her favorite meal (salmon on mash potatoes) to get the truth out of her.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it, hon’ ” Jade glanced up at me, as young as ever.

I helped her bring another bite to her lips.”Oh, don’t say that Grandma. You’ll be fine. You’re a toughie.”

“I’m sorry hon.’” She chewed it thoughtfully, then glanced up at me, her eyes sparkling like streams in the sunlight. “You want to know a secret?”

“Sure.” Wondering what on earth Grandma Jade had left to tell.

“Set that fork down and open that drawer next to you. Yeah, that one. The picture should be underneath all those scarves.”

I pulled it and held up for both our eyes. It was the picture of Grandpa Jones, the only picture she had.

“Did you know Grandpa knew more than just planes?”

I set her plate aside. She never never had an appetite when she had a story to tell.

“He also liked ships. Big ones. Historic ones.”

“You mean, sailing?”

Jade smiled, seeming younger already. “Yeah. He loved to go and rescue men lost at sea.” She sighed wistfully.

“Like the coast guard?”

She frowned slightly, as if I was missing something important. “Sort of, except none of them ever wanted to come back. So they would join his crew.”

“Wait, he was a captain?”

Jade smiled again, proud. “One of the best. No one could ever catch him.”

“But he left you years ago, right? Soon after the war?”

She spoke softer, squeezing my hand weakly. “He came back once every ten years.”

My eyes widened farther than the portholes in her kitchen. “Wait…Grandpa Jones is–”

Jade whispered fiercely, grinning. “Davy Jones.” She thumbed my hand. “Just between us though, alright?”

I nodded. “So…you’re going to meet him.”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll go and join his crew.” She uttered softly.

“And you’re not coming back.” I swallowed.

“Just promise you’ll bury me at sea.”

“Of course, Grandma, of course.”

knowing how to save her life,

and saving her life.

In that world there stands

white-washed doctors,

and mud-slung legislators,

and the god of a computer

who judges without mercy.

Here, common sense is worth less

than two pennies,

but her minutes are worth more than gold.

I could buy diamonds with her lucid thoughts,

and rubies with her smiles.

Next thing she knew, Rachel was standing up and walking. She swallowed, wondering  why she didn’t feel any pain, in fact, she didn’t feel anything at all. Rachel had to look down to see that her feet touched the marble floor as they walked. Her heart would have skipped a beat, except she had noticed that it had stopped beating.

The hall yawned before her eyes, deep, with every surface covered in gray marble. It had no windows, no lamps, no fires, and no sunlight, but she could see down it just fine. At the end of the hall sat black iron doors, and the moment Rachel would have reached to push them open, they opened themselves. Beyond the doors a cavernous room loomed before her, making Rachel stop so abruptly, she rocked back on her heels.

A table stood in the center of the room, gray marble like everything else.  One black iron chair stood on each side, one empty, and one occupied. Rachel recognized that occupant immediately, and her skin covered itself with goosebumps. He beckoned her with a wave of his long black sleeve to the empty chair. Glancing back at the iron doors, she saw them close with a hollow echo. The chair seemed to be her only option. She sat down, looking at the table instead of trying to meet his eyes.

In the middle of the small table sat a game of chess, with each piece in its starting position. One half had carved marble, sleek and simple. The other half had iron, intricate and rich.  Underneath them, rested the chessboard, made of shimmering glass.

“Care for a game?” He whispered, his voice hoarse, but clear.

“I guess.” Rachel answered, not really seeing any other option. She moved the pawn closest to her right.

He slid a knight to face her pawn. “Who are you?”

“Rachel Stevens.” She studied the board, already having a bad feeling about her odds. How did it go? Win the game and get a second chance at life? Or would she only have a chance at a better afterlife? Who the heck knew all this stuff and bothered to tell the living? Rachel focused on the opposite side of her board, deciding to move one of her knights closer to the center. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Did you want to be?” He moved the same knight closer to hers.

She swallowed, moving her pawn again. “Yes.”

He moved the knight away, and Rachel caught a glance of the bones beneath the sleeve. They matched the marble well. “Why?”

Rachel wondered how many times he’d heard this before. “I couldn’t face my life anymore.” She slid her rook right behind her pawn. It thudded lightly against the glass, hissing as she let go.

“Why did that make you kill yourself?” He slid a pawn right behind his knight.

She wished she had an idea of what he planned next. He seemed the type that could plan an infinite amount of moves ahead of time. After all, he seemed to have all the time in the world. “I was afraid.” Rachel answered softly, moving her knight next to his.

His queen knocked out her pawn. “What a waste.”

“You don’t understand.” She swallowed, moving her knight and taking out one of his pawns. “Check.”

The room seemed to get warmer. He sat silently for a long time. “I wish you understood. Suicide is one of the most selfish and cruel acts one can commit, Rachel.” He moved his king out of harm’s way.

“I had to. I had no choice.” She moved her knight again, taking out his rook.

“You always had a choice.” He slid his bishop until it stood a square away from his knight. “You always did. Until now.”

None of her options now seemed good.  Rachel swallowed, moving her pawn forward. “Then why did you offer me a game?”

He moved his queen back.  ”I have my reasons.”

“That’s not answering my question.” She slid another pawn forward, trying to free up her more powerful pieces.

“I don’t have to answer your questions.” He slid a pawn as well.

Rachel saw her chance, taking out his knight. “What if I win?”

“What if you do?” He mused, sliding a pawn behind his queen.

“I want answers.” She moved her knight back, taking out another pawn. So far, she had more pieces than he did. Rachel wondering how long that would last.

Apparently not long. He immediately took out her knight with another pawn.”That’s all?”

“How much can I ask for?” She slid out a bishop, suddenly finding the need to end this quick.

“Indeed.” He also moved a bishop.

“What are my options?” She moved her bishop again, as far as she could. “Check.”

“You should have researched that before you killed yourself.” He moved his king out of her path.

“Well, I’m asking now.” She moved her bishop again, chasing him.

“I don’t have to tell you.” His king took out her bishop.

They were even, with four pieces each. Rachel moved her queen. “What if I asked nicely?”

He moved his. “Probably not.”

She moved her remaining knight. “Have you ever told anyone?”

“Most of them already seem to know by this point.” He moved his king away.

“I don’t.” She took out his queen, breathing a sigh of relief.

He moved a pawn, and the shadows beneath his hood seemed to darken. “That’s unfortunate. To not know your stakes.”

Rachel took out another pawn with her knight. “I guess. I can’t change that now.”

He moved one two spaces forward. “I suppose.” Death sounded bored.

She took out a rook. “You don’t know?”

“You’re full of questions. No sob story?” He moved a knight in front of his king.

“You’ve probably already heard it.” She moved her queen forward. If Rachel was lucky, she might have a chance now.

“Perhaps not.” He moved his remaining bishop.

Rachel moved her queen to his end of the board. “I lost my job.”

He moved his bishop directly in front of her king. “That sounds like a poor reason for suicide.”

She took it out. “It was a really nice job. I had no savings.”

He moved another pawn. “Nothing else?”

“I had no boyfriend. My family were already struggling to pay their own bills.” She moved her queen. “Check.”

He took out her queen. “So you made them pay for your funeral?”

“I had life insurance.” She moved her rook. “Check.”

He moved his king forward, bringing her rook within range. “How much?”

Rachel took out his knight. “Not enough.” She sighed.

His bishop took out her knight. “Unfortunate.”

“Yeah.” She moved a pawn forward, running out of options fast. Rachel only had five pieces left.

He moved a pawn in line with his king. “So you’re costing them a funeral and a loved one.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” She moved her knight.

He moved a pawn, and gained back his queen. “See a therapist. Seek faith. Seek love.”

“None of those seemed appetizing.” She moved her knight again. “Check.”

He took out her night with his bishop. “Better than death.”

“Yeah.” She sighed, moving a bishop. He was going to win.

“Always.” He moved his queen in line with her king. “Check.”

She moved her king out of the way. “You think so?”

“Always.” He moved his queen with ease. “Check.”

She moved her king back. “What if a person’s life was hell?”

He pursued. “You know nothing of hell.”

“You know nothing of living.” She moved her king back.

“Don’t I? I end lives every day.” He took out one of two remaining pawns. Not that Rachel could have moved them anyway.

She moved her king closer to his. It was the only piece she could still move. “And what do they tell you?”

His followed. “They beg, usually.”

She moved her king. “Creative.”

“They’re desperate.” He took out her last pawn.

“They’re dying.” She moved her king back.

“They don’t want to. ” His king followed. “Check.”

“I do.” She moved her king back.

“Unfortunate.” His bishop moved in line with her king. “Check.”

Rachel moved it forward. “So what? Just another soul right?”

“Every soul has value.” He moved his queen in front of hers. “Check mate.”

except it was the sort of ghost

that only followed my shadow

everywhere my feet fled.

A hotel at the beach, warmly lit,

a nursing home in Italy smelled better.

_______________

My mother’s room had a different ghost,

one that clung to the chambers of my heart,

after creeping in through my nose and eyes.

It plagued my sight after I left the room,

filling it with mist that made my chest throb.

__________________

Twenty ghosts haunted the signatures

in her yearbook,

each curve connecting each letter

was a ley line into her world,

a world I wondered if I knew.

The autopsy report confirmed that the body was only a few hours old.  Both parents confirmed that the nineteen year old had gone missing earlier that day, just after lunch, when the sun cooked eggs on the concrete. Later they identified Wheeler’s dark tresses and the mole on her left cheek. Her parents couldn’t recognize much else.

Police investigated the case, calling the case a homicide. Five years later and no murderer had been found. Every third Friday a twenty-four year old woman visits the lawn, though the police have long since removed the yellow tape. She runs her hand along the blazing concrete and smirks, before she walks off, the sun catching the wave in her dark curls.

Birthday cards and Mother’s Day cards

feel ten pounds heavier when she’s sick,

twenty when she’s no longer around to keep them.

Her signature stamped on each one,

blares like neon gas

when her hands no longer sign them.

Prying open each door will leave us

with dead arms and blind eyes.

I locked inside,

with the lost cds,

the forgotten Christmas,

and the Easter she slept through.

_______________

Each 21 days Death pulls out a key

and unchains the chest.

He allows three tears

to escape. The key slips

into his hollow cape.

______________

In the cavity of his chest

he holds our ache,

But he also holds our cure.

My laptop, painted in cherry, sat on a crisp tablecloth.

No trash had found the table yet.

_________

She stood at the crossroads of

the sunny kitchen,

the cloudy family room,

and the crimson dining room.

_____________

I backed away from my dead mother

who stared at me,

breathing with her eyes wide open.

_____________

“Oh honey.”

Her arms drooped slightly

while halos found her chocolate curls,

clinging to her head.

____________

Slowly, as all people do in dreams,

I walked.

____________

Then I ran.

____________

I wrapped my arms around her,

and clung to her silk and pearl nightgown.

______________

Her arms  wrapped around me,

warm and dry for the first time

in five months.

___________

We wept,

and our smiles shook.