by Glen Martin Fitch
The ghosts come out to meet me
from their sleep.
Not as my parents
do they watch the door,
but from each photo's frozen face
they peep and haunt the habits
I can wear no more.
They summon up the dead
from letters found
and jab me
with each name out of my past.
Forgotten thoughts spring
from each scent and sound
to mock me
for my dreams that didn’t last.
Yet in the dark,
alone,
they make me start to wonder
who and where and when I am
as formless faces
that once held my heart
beseech me
now to join among the damned.
They are the beings
that I used to be.
Each cannot yet forgive
each change in me.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011