Emperor Wen's Butcher
Slit open the skin, Emperor’s best butcher,
in that space between sinew and bone
you’ll find the ghost girl tethered.
A frayed silver thread at her throat
leads to the thin, weak wrist
of a sister, truly dead, served up on a slab
in the still, green light of the morgue
Without disturbing the past, best butcher,
with your carving knife, cut her free.
No hungry ghost sucking out life from what’s lost
but a new being blessed
with three clean instructions:
begin again
begin better
begin