ghostyA Story by katy
When she entered thr room,
she silently closed the door
and scanned the perimeter
as if to find something unexpected.
Evidence of possible activity.
On the nightstand,
his portraits were overturned.
He never liked himself on display
and habitually tipped over the frames
whenever they could be seen.
She recently picked up this habit
of setting them upright when she was in the room,
but knocking them down when leaving.
She doesn't remember touching the pictures today.
He comes and goes as he pleases.
Sometimes he stays to sing to her,
others are brief and voilent.
His feet drag when he walks
like heavy chains are cuffed to his ankles.
His soul will never be at peace
because that is just the kind of guy he was.
His body was never recovered
from beneath the ice,
but she is ok with it.
She likes to remember him
folding the linens
or packing his pipe with tobacco
or combing his hair.
Not swollen and stiff
and stuffed inro a cold drawer.
She is glad he still lingers so close.
© 2012 katy
Added on June 16, 2012
Last Updated on June 16, 2012
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