(Inspired by and partially 
sourced by Bianca Spriggs’
urban legend fan fiction)

Her eyes looked like they held
the answer to anywhere.

Hungry for the tattoo star– her star —
occasionally I’d lift women’s hair aside while
they stood in line. Women change their
hair so often— hungry star. Diner on the corner star.

But maybe there is no star.
No last meal star. No greasy spoon star,
no mama’s home cooking star, no five-star
restaurant on the river star and no
blinking neon eyes that answer “Open” anywhere.

Women change their hair so often.
Maybe she said my name so softly
because she already knew it was written
high in the anywhere above.

We belonged. It haunted my name
in her voice. She had to leave town
that night. That night, she felt me at her neck.
She was already my ghost.