by Pat Tyrer
I’ve decided I spend too much time talking to dead people, especially those just passing by. I figure they’re after something, but I don’t know what exactly. When I was younger, I would yell at them, “you’re dead” without sympathy. Now I just say inane things like, “go in peace,” and “walk toward the light,” like some bad cable television psychic. What surprises me about the dead is that they don’t seem to know any more than I do, and believe me, I’ve asked them about boyfriends, jobs, the winning lotto numbers. The dead haven’t a clue.
Pat Tyrer is a writer and Associate Professor of American Literature at West Texas A&M University where she teaches American Literature, Film Studies, and Creative Writing. She has published in The Southern Literary Journal, The Houston Literary Review, Mused, and Quiet Mountain Feminist Essays.