2015

and the appetizers were ordered 

then the phone rang 

and she saw me crying

then the empty seats were vacated without warning

and the drive back to the hospital was fragile and silent

then I was both passenger and driver for 13 minutes 7 kilometres

and the parking lot was empty

then memories began flooding back in 

and the halls slid past me in cautious waves

then my mom was huddled near the floor

and my sister said he’s gone

then my spouse anchored her hand between my shoulder blades

and 

then

and

then

and

. . .

ghosts

26 steps

head bent
and staring down,
you say

i’m good, i’m good

in
rasped out
air
ripped edges,
punctuated
by that
beeping sound
somewhere.

this is not good.

you lying down now,
but not resting.

26 steps.
26 minutes.

where did you go?

you were gone
too long.

confused,
i wondered
why walk?

why,
try to,
do this thing?

I mean,
the stained sheet
maps out
exactly
the imagined spaces
of
what you
still control.

and
this very short list
reminds me of something.

when the body betrays,
who can you blame?

two persons
are created,
which is most trustworthy?

I shift
uncomfortably.

when
did I stop
seeing
you?

all as one.
aggregated.
whole.

I see
that what was
and
is,
now stand
at duelling distance

across from
will and wanna be.

mind torn from body
embraces the imaginary.

your body
right now
stealing the future
and
eroding the past.

twice you forgot my name.

once I disappeared
right before your eyes.

is the imagined
now that you seek?

is that why
you wanted
to walk?