A Great Deal

The day I met my house in 1998, 
I was playing with My Little Pony.
I told my mom that the house was haunted.
She said, “It was a great deal.”
I said, “It is a great place. For ghosts.”

For the first five years, I heard footsteps in my attic
every night. I imagined the ghost children
were playing with my toy ponies,
giggling and eating popcorn,
hoping to never get caught up 
past their bedtime.

At night, I’d hear a flag blowing in the wind 
outside my broken window.
I’d look out and see my pole, flagless
and rusted in the dark, the orange street light
making it autumn at any time of year.

A glass shattered on my top shelf.
I saw no hand swat it.
I stood on a chair to collect its pieces,
my body feeling the shock.
Underneath where the glass sat,
there was a folded piece of brown paper,
sadly aged, that read XMAS 1969
I consulted the town archives,
but the origin remains undiscoverable.

The footsteps in my attic stopped when I was ten,
but I know sometimes the basement shakes,
the attic cries, because up there is a rocking chair
I cannot see, swaying, unattended.

I only go to the basement to for wrapping paper
and the deep freeze, filled with frost bitten pizzas,
spilled bags of fries.

Still giggling, the ghosts that grew up alongside me
always move the ice.

Poetry, by Angel Rosen.

Angel Rosen (she/her) is a queer poet near Pittsburgh, PA. She is passionate about friendship, drag shows, and doing the work. Angel is the winner of the 2025 Maureen Seaton Poetry Prize, a Best of Net Nom, a dog mom to five ghost dogs (that’s okay), and the elephant in some rooms. She can be found at angelrosen.com or Axiopoeticus.