top of page

Ghosted | Holly Fine

He told me the truth using no words,

leaving me to walk alone at twilight.

Enveloped by choking air,

I saw colors in peripherals

like the sky incurred brain damage. 


Romance was like shopping.

He was a floor model, but I never

needed cellophane wrapping.

Impatience made the selection,

loneliness swiped the card,

hijacked by hope that the attributes

of someone are what you are buying. 


I miss the old days when flames burned

out revealing caps twisting in hands.

It was an event, spectacular like being

an audience member at a firing squad. 

The art has been broken and

replaced with staring at a screen.


Holly Fine studied history and creative writing at UC Berkeley and lives in Los Angeles. She has studied poetry at UCLA Extension Writers’ Program.


Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page