Funeral For A Ghost

After Lynda Hull

In the evening of Summer

I walk myself through 

Chinatown blocks—

streets that smell of earth,

of tea steeped for days…

Soon, a woman stops me, waving

bright colored paper money.

I look around her to see couples,

faceless people, burning

what the woman has to offer.

We exchange paper bills & she hands me one piece—

its face holds more zeros than I can count. 

I want to do this in private, so I stalk off

to an alleyway between stores. I check

my back. Check to see if I am really 

alone before I think of my daughter’s face &

my lighter lifts quick—

Through the smoke

of Ghost Paper—I imagine

what her face would have looked like

 when she turned 5

                                 16

                                     21

An entire life before me

& nothing to do but watch.

The bright gold-lined sheet of paper engulfed 

much faster than wood. Slim

colored sheet... crumpled in a moment.

I want to bottle the smoke—

bring it to my bedroom & lie there awhile. Imagining

the smell of my daughter's hair during sleep—

the feeling of a first loose tooth 

under my thumb. 

Before I can finish the daydream

smoke is in my nose, bringing me back

to Chinatown streets━where a couple  

is walking arm in arm toward the safety

of my alley.

& if they were to ask me, who 

I burned my money for, I would say

Nobody I knew, before turning down

a street lined with paper lanterns—tossing

coins in a bum's cup & wanting nothing more

than to watch the paper burn all night.