A Ghost Story

I think there is a ghost in my apartment.

She lives
in hinges,
scuffed parquet
and the absence
of paint
on the window frames

I don't think she's malevolent
just exhausted
as I imagine all ghosts
to be
so I put on shows
I think she'd like
baking ones mostly
mindless and quiet
to help aid
in eternity

When I hear
the creak or crack
of something shifting
the brush and rustle
of nameless drifting
I leave a glass of water
clear and cool
on the table
for though I know little
of the hereafter
I do know
the dead
are thirsty.