Eating for Ghosts

They set a plate for their ghosts: pear,
a scoop of rice and vinegary blood stew; squares
of molasses-slick sweets, a shot glass of water.
If someone is having wine, best to flick a few
drops onto the floor. They forget about it 
until it's time to put the dishes away. 
What do we do with this, asks the child,
fingering the lace doily underneath. She's told
she can eat them if she wants. She likes
the idea of other mouths having first blessed 
the food with fingers like smoke swirls, 
with appetites bold enough to cut through
the electric fence bristling between worlds.