Raw Poem Post 8
11/11/05 1:23 AM
Untitled Prose Poem 9
Sister Osiris, a famous medium, is known as the wisest woman in our city. What she can do is she can taste the spirits of the dead. We have her on a television show where she goes into haunted buildings. We have her going in there at night pretty much alone. Jerry, the cameraman, goes with her, but being with Jerry is a lot like being alone. Last week we had her go through the north door of St. Milton Hospital. When she came out of the south door she said, “sunflower seeds, cracker crumbs, tungsten, floor wax.” This told her that four spirits haunted the place: a boy and girl--fraternal twins that died of tuberculosis, a janitor who hung himself beside a single light bulb that still dangles in the boiler room, an elderly man who wandered from his bed one night and tumbled down the terrazzo stairs. One night in the Trocadero Hotel, Sister Osiris said, “cinnamon, alum, gun oil,” and we knew she had found the ghosts of the Finney family, murdered in their sleep by a bumbling hit man who got the room number wrong. We blew the show when we decided to have her go into the old State Psychiatric Hospital. She came out of there clawing at her tongue: “black match sticks and piss.” Someone was smart enough to throw a blanket over her. We wrestled her into the station van and rushed her to the emergency room. Then someone noticed that we had the camera but we didn’t have Jerry. Sister Osiris couldn’t taste anything after that night, and we rarely saw her after that. Jerry, too, no longer haunted us.
Untitled Prose Poem 9
Sister Osiris, a famous medium, is known as the wisest woman in our city. What she can do is she can taste the spirits of the dead. We have her on a television show where she goes into haunted buildings. We have her going in there at night pretty much alone. Jerry, the cameraman, goes with her, but being with Jerry is a lot like being alone. Last week we had her go through the north door of St. Milton Hospital. When she came out of the south door she said, “sunflower seeds, cracker crumbs, tungsten, floor wax.” This told her that four spirits haunted the place: a boy and girl--fraternal twins that died of tuberculosis, a janitor who hung himself beside a single light bulb that still dangles in the boiler room, an elderly man who wandered from his bed one night and tumbled down the terrazzo stairs. One night in the Trocadero Hotel, Sister Osiris said, “cinnamon, alum, gun oil,” and we knew she had found the ghosts of the Finney family, murdered in their sleep by a bumbling hit man who got the room number wrong. We blew the show when we decided to have her go into the old State Psychiatric Hospital. She came out of there clawing at her tongue: “black match sticks and piss.” Someone was smart enough to throw a blanket over her. We wrestled her into the station van and rushed her to the emergency room. Then someone noticed that we had the camera but we didn’t have Jerry. Sister Osiris couldn’t taste anything after that night, and we rarely saw her after that. Jerry, too, no longer haunted us.
posted by Rhino Benedetti at 11:48 PM
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