(For my grandpa)
On some evenings,
when the streets have given
up the sound of cars and kids,
the silence delivers me a ghost.
I go outside when the quiet
comes into my bones.
Blinds everywhere close shut.
The air smells of a long day.
Homes start to sleep
like people do.
As the neighborhood tucks itself in,
something happens to me.
Aspens start to sway. The wind
picks up when I ask it to.
There are closed-eye moments
where I, too, sway with the trees.
I ask them to blow this ghost
slowly into my heart.
Trees are such giving pieces of earth
when you ask them the right questions.
"Give him to me," I mouth in silence.
"Bring him into my body."
When I open my eyes, it happens.
Branches shiver and I start to cry.
My ghost is among the leaves.
As I stop to listen to the speech of trees,
my ghost comes home.
oh my gosh, WONDERFUL. "the air smells of a long day" / "blow this ghost slowly into my heart" / "i stop to listen to the speech of trees"...
ReplyDeletei can envision this entire poem. it's so tangible, grounded, rooted. and yet i feel like i'm at the whimsy of the wind, too...blowing here, there, looking for a solid place to land--which, in the poem, is your heart.
it's lonely and yet not. there's something to be said for feeling someone's presence in an empty space.
beautiful.