Sample Poetry Post

Her Ghost
Richard A. Burns

Her ghost is across the table,
Hovering above the chair where my wife used to sit.
It reaches out to me. And yet, I know such an ethereal thing
Won't hold me, can't cook dinner, would never shout that cheery “bye-bye” when headed out to her work-day.

For entire days, there are no signs of this shy, shy guest.
It leaves me alone, and I’m okay. Then, it’s here once more. I'm getting used to her.
Little by little, I push on. I live, laugh, and love.
And my new sentinel surprises me. She silently approves.

Still ... still, I hesitate. Is my visitor watching again? Could she be jealous?
But if she appears, her spirit simply waves and whispers:
“Go on? Don’t worry about treading on dead leaves,
Done with life, floated down from the might-have-been tree.”

You say it’s only a dream-like blur, a memory streaming by,
Like dissipating patches of light fog along my checkerboard path.
But, no, I think not. It’s real.
It’s real as a cold, steady rain on a grave in winter.

Time moves forward, and my friend, a good deal quieter of late,
Shimmers only faintly in the background.
Still, she rights me when I’m about to stack the dishes wrong.
Ghosts would know such things I guess.

Richard A. Burns © June 2008 All rights reserved.