GHOSTS IN THE CORNERS

 

My dad, Brick Baker,
in the late 1940's

My family is Irish, so ghosts are a given:
ghost stories as a child; my father's ghost
smiling at me from behind the counter 
at Long's Drug Store the summer he died;
the ghost I once shared a store with
who objected to our presence.

One morning, when my kids were young,
I woke to see a female ghost, smiling at me,
in the corner of my room. I smiled back,
unafraid, as she faded away.

A lot of things have scared me, in my life:
men, and things that happened to my kids.
My father, when I was young.
But when friendly female ghosts 
crouch in my corners,
I welcome them as friends.

The dead don't scare me half as much
as the living (especially those without hearts
who are ruling parts of the world now.)

We are getting close to the witchy season. I am saving a very witchy poem for Halloween. I never watch scary movies or horror films. The scariest thing I watch these days is the news.