• Lammergeier Staff

Ghost Town | Caleb Howard

Updated: Mar 13, 2019



My mother blamed ghosts when we moved back

in with her parents, afraid of the more tangible


suspended syllable before a debt collector’s

voicemail, morning malt-breath, chest tightness, broken


thrown things.

Ten years


in mildewed storage units, makeshift structure

city, dust haze, ghost town for luckless yellow


jackets, cardboard box bricks with packing tape

mortar and trashbag hills, our walkways little rivers,


the basketball hoop a busted streetlamp against the back

wall, hauled out from the front yard a few days before


the foreclosure. My stepdad used to fold himself over,

red and spitting worthlesses. Now he helps me scavenge

these boxes for baby pictures and the blue-trim china

kept in shrink-wrap. The arms of a plastic fir proffer


dead lights, wrapped in wire and lace binding

from a quilt I don’t remember. There are no gods


here, only spiders.






Caleb Howard is a non-binary writer, an English major at the University of West Georgia, and Editor-in-Chief of the Eclectic literary journal. Caleb enjoys reading obscure texts and petting animals.


Twitter: @calebjayhoward.

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