In 1897, the death of Elva Zona Heaster was deemed accidental, but her mother’s grief would not subside. When Zona’s ghost appeared, it revealed a shocking truth that no one could ignore. Based on a chilling true event, Elva Zona’s Last Act explores a haunting tale of love, betrayal, and justice from beyond the grave.

Born in 1876, Elva Zona Heaster,

Of her youth, only fragments reside.

I...

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The bell clatters ‘Time’ on another quiet night
tucked off the shore front
In the precious warmth of a Sisimiut tavern
I take another jar, tilt it back and drain
but still there are no answers waiting
Slouching on the bar stool
and licked by shifting shadows
lulled to doze 
by the constant comb of a shuffling sea
An absent-minded shiver washes over
and, suddenly, so softly
your pale arm...

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Have You Noticed?
after Mary Oliver

have you noticed how certain poems linger 
in the echoes of yesterday 

how certain triggers replay
a certain phrase

how hanging onto words
engulfs an empty room

how walking through fields
begets velvet moonlit nights listening to you

how spinning a record after dropping a needle
births a mountain of longing and sorrow 

have you ever notic...

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There's a ghost in my room
That sings me to sleep
Whispering in my ear
A sweet symphony

With a simple melody
That has a heart mending remedy
But the words that it sings
I can't remember for the life of me

The voice is familiar
But can't put it to a face
I remember something similar
When my mind was in a better state

All I can hope
Is that it never leaves
Because if it were to d...

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Those feelings

The ones that hold you back

Make you want to stop

stay home and hide

they haunt me

You get that sinking feeling

an ache in the pit of your stomach

can’t shake it

leaves you feeling helpless

and hopeless

Memories

that you thought you’d hidden

or dealt with

come flooding back

vivid as if it was just today

haunting you like a ghost

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and now  the voices start

those grody sounds that stop your heart

beneath the floor, within the walls

the precedent for dull footfalls

calling to us one by one

with no clear sight of saint or villain

a spectral round of hide and seek

directed by a floorboards creak

each time we search there’s nothing there

but of this guest we’re so aw...

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eidolic dread horses

have scarred your slumber

and even your furniture

has silent, open mouthed, nightmares

over the too soon dead school friends

who never ended their crossings

where there she stoops in shroud

ghastly knelt as in prayer

and you can’t see through the tricks

of light that scream “she is there”

your crumpling chest  boiling

as the bones...

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