The Ghosts that Love Me
They drift at will,
floating in and out of my walls,
quick to vanish when I stare too long.
I’m not sure when my dead friends started swaying
over my shoulder
but the dust swirled that first time
when Zac hovers above my bed,
a joint winking on his lips.
I almost crackle with laughter.
I almost reach out for a clap-hug.
Then he passes me the joint,
And my hand passes through his.
Marsha catches me in a snowstorm,
lobs transparent snowballs at my back,
all the while, she dances,
(god, she could move as smooth as seaweed in lakes)
she also cries,
still shimmying to no music,
and I’m reminded of how depression
flicked its embers on her hair,
lighting a fire she never wanted.
I dance with her, but I don’t cry.
She always loved my smile.
Wane and wax,
the moon lanterns my walk home from the Jays game.
Hovering above me, Marli is frowning,
track marks dotting her neck.
I want to ask her if she’s OK now,
but such a cliché question ferments in my gut.
I just want her close.
I’m tempted to call Jason,
let him know his sister is here,
a mile away from where they grew up,
as the moon languishes behind brewing clouds.
Marli meanders into a park. Looking back at me.
I don’t follow her.
*To buy my new book, visit here for various links. If you're in Toronto, my book launch is May 8 at Handlebar (159 Augusta) at 8pm. Details here.
About This Blog
Media criticism. Poetry. Being a better creative. Toronto stories. Technology. Sports. Why X-Files rocks.