Ghostly hands in the mirror

I had a dream where I was back
At the house where I grew up
Paused to gaze in the mirror
Folded my hands over my chest

The reflection seemed odd
Yet I didn’t question it
Until I moved my hands
And the reflection didn’t

The ghostly hands in the mirror
Quickly moved to match mine
Wide-eyed, I tested my theory
Something felt terribly wrong

The hands emerged from the mirror
I watched them reach for my throat
Cold, bony fingers started to choke
I awoke from the dream…breathless

Felt so vivid — unsure if I dreamt it
But I was certain that there were
Fingerprints now on my neck
Where there surely wasn’t before.

A poem by Jason S. Sullivan, 10-02-20

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