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.....one
party move is ask a stranger ‘have you seen a ghost?’..... surprisingly
most have..... maybe dispatched from pasts above..... perhaps
our friends who die on us that sometime did us love..... the clink of glasses
brings another presence..... we talk of times when the essence of a dead friend is all pervading.....
the echoed voice..... that laugh..... the time when..... and the
suffering when the reluctant dying tell you so convincingly that they are ‘all
right’..... we can do nothing but watch wait and watch..... the scientist mixing her own cyanide checks in to say her
deadly cocktail worked and she’s OK..... the determined young man walks past the
window heading for
the Inter City train not as a passenger..... now as returning dead guilt free
they lightly dance..... then people
going suddenly after a good lunch decked with vintage Burgundy..... the admiral dying in his garden left to nature’s intrusions..... the tragic arias of the stabbed
man.... the crushed girl..... on the street..... loved
ones who don’t just appear in attics on January nights..... we
talk of their touch their cheer..... yes more bubbly
please to toast all those who have really known us..... are
now part of us..... through the years..... and someone tells of
clothes..... an item left for them to wear..... these clothes
that never lose their shape..... are always there.....
the jacket on the back of the chair..... |
Liz Callingham