Ghost Town

Published in “Cave Region Review”

“Another tie chipped into the river, hitting sky.

The boys stripped their shirts, hooking them

on iron spikes in the rotten wood of the train bridge.

the scent of rain clung to the underside

of every leaf; silkworms pillowed

poison sumacs along the bank.

The boy I liked jumped first.

He sank into the deadly green, then rose

like something Hell had sent back.

I didn’t jump, just straddled

a beam, wishing for a train.

In summer, the church doors opened early.

We dragged our feet through sweaty grass.

I played piano, banging weak keys.

The strings had tired of song

or preferred the boarded-up saloons

once lighting the railway line.

What can wash away my sin?

Nothing but the blood

of Jesus.

The ceiling fan purred over the cicada hum,

over another century’s iron spikes and wood.

What was the inspiration for “Ghost Town”?

When I was a about eleven or twelve, I was invited to play the piano at a small Baptist church near the Little Red River. For some reason, the piano was very quiet. I couldn’t hear it above the singing and wasn’t confident enough to properly bang the keys into song. That’s the origin most grounded in reality. The legend stemmed from the high school kids saying they hung out at the train bridge and jumped off. When writing this poem, I was thinking about the mix of danger and religion and the way that intersects with growing up.

What was writing it like? An uninhibited flow state? Or were there many hurdles?

My first drafts are usually written in a flow state—hand-written on whatever scrap of paper is closest, sometimes even in the back of the poetry book I’m reading for inspiration. Weeks later, I type the poem and do a lot of revising as it goes from page to screen. As with most of my poems, there were probably ten drafts of “Ghost Town” before I settled on this one. I tend to pare things down further with every draft.

As you were nearing the final draft, what were you thinking about?

I imagined the speaker of the poem walking on the abandoned train bridge in a kind of tightrope act, with the river below as safety net, both attracted to and afraid of danger.

“To Virginia Woolf” by Paulette Guerin – Published in Euphony Journal

How long did it take to complete the project?

This poem evolved over a year.

How did you arrive at the title?

I wanted to convey the definition of a ghost town—in this case, one of those rural places that 100 years earlier was a boomtown when the railroad went through. The ghost town is a place that “progress” left behind, or people deserted for better opportunities, but for me it was also a place populated by ghosts. The ghosts of the past, and maybe even a hint of the Holy Ghost with the religious elements.

Was there a transformative moment where the story took on a different light or went a different direction?

At first, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to make the comparison between railroad ties and spikes and the crucifixion, but I finally accepted that on an elemental level they were connected, and on a narrative level, they offer a contrast—trespassing unsanctioned on a train bridge versus the Christian belief surrounding forgiveness for trespasses, “sanctified” (as the lexicon goes) by the blood of Jesus. So in the end I had to trust my instincts without making sure the parallels tied up too nicely or obviously, so long as they captured the feeling of both coexisting in a rural, isolated place.

If so, how did you navigate this? If not, are set expectations typical of your process?

It’s more fun to not know where a poem is going. So often, in the first draft my train of thought breaks down, or I’m interrupted before I finish writing the end, so revising is also a process of discovery.

What advice would you offer someone struggling to write with a similar approach?

Time. My go-to has always been to let things sit and then revisit them with fresh eyes. When I was finishing my undergrad degree, I asked my poetry professor Laura Mullen how I would know which new poems were working and which weren’t without the workshop environment. She said you just have to keep writing and then compare the poems against each other. I loved that her answer included “keep writing,” and her words made me realize that some poems will stand out as stronger than others—not unlike songs on an album.

How much does revision play into your process?

It’s huge. Knowing that I am going to revise means that I can silence the inner critic as I’m writing the first draft. Without that deal—that the critic will get to make an appearance, but later—I would have trouble writing past crippling perfectionism.

“Airport” by Paulette Guerin – Published in The Summerset Review

What are you reading currently?

Great question—I’m a very promiscuous reader! In poetry, I just finished Standing in the Forest of Being Alive by Katie Farris; The Mercy of Traffic by Wendy Taylor Carlisle, and The Pearl Diver’s Daughter by Michael Blanchard. Next up: Names and Rivers by Shuri Kido, Punks: New & Selected Poems by John Keene, and Unusually Grand Ideas by James May. In fiction, A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles, Tell the Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt, and Scattered Lights by Steve Wiegenstein. Nonfiction: Taste: My Life Through Food by Stanley Tucci.

Thank you so very much for the kindness of your participation!

Keep up with Paulette Guerin here at her site!