Monday, February 26, 2007

Standing With Ghosts

I stand in the footsteps of ghosts.
The hands of the clock are still;
Weight waiting to be lifted. As I am
To the next floor, where I’ll be greeted

By giggles and the tinkling of piano
Keys. To shouts of “Snap”.
The cries of brothers, the sweat of father
Eyes casting glances for silence.

As all heads bow, give thanks to the Lord
The ghosts engulfed with steam
From bowls of hot fare, that sit beneath
Folded hands, knuckles shown.

And then only chairs, tables set out for games
For lunch. For families no longer.
Only their possessions not possessed.
Their steps an echo of my own.