Ghostwriter

by Nina Quigley

I’m a solitary ghostwriter living at the limit

of the known world, watering the plants and picking

ripe berries that present. I squeeze

lemons for morning water, and grow light.

On Tuesday evenings I pull out a black bin

or a blue, and Wednesdays I take them in.

They’re both empty now like me, and weightless,

our carbon footprint fading as I release

my iron hold on things. Today, jam asks

to be made, and I pick off stalks to make ready

for the pan. I stand and stir, patient for the gel,

and write messages in molten sugar on a plate.