BY JAKOB MAIER
The universe gets lonely too
because there’s only one of it.
I eat dinners in the bathtub
because it’s quiet there, & fetal.
A ghost comes to my home
every few months just to move
a folding chair from the kitchen
to the laundry room. I named
her Hannah, which I hope
she likes. I leave the light on
for her at night. We keep
each other from vanishing.
She asks me to pour
another moment of hot water
in the long bath that holds
this whole mess together.
Jakob Maier is a writer in upstate New York, where he received his MFA at Syracuse University and works as managing editor of Peach Mag. He is the author of Conversations (Ghost City Press, 2017), and his poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from the New England Review, Crazyhorse, Prelude, Birdfeast, Gramma, Hobart, Flock, fields, and more. His manuscript Happy Hour in the Decline of Civilization was a finalist for the 2018 Metatron Prize for Rising Authors. Find him at jakobmaier.art on twitter @goodtimejakob.
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