The Old Ghosts

Just when you think no one is watching

What do you do when the old ghosts are gone?
When there's nothing left to guide you?
When they've all moved on,
or come back,
or worse.
What if they all stopped caring?
What if your guides have all lost their way?

You screech the beater to a hasty halt. Your mind blurs with highway hypnosis on old country roads, back roads. Your eyes spied the changing of the lights from green to yellow to red, but your mind was far away, lost in thoughts too incongruous to verbalize. You are sweating. The defroster is on hot, the fan high, clearing the fog from your windshield. It's dark and the summer's evening rain makes it hard to see. The center lines blur together, then apart. They drift and swell like breathing. The light turns green. You fumble for first and crawl ahead.

The hair on your arms doesn't stand up anymore.
The goose bumps are gone,
replaced by an aching emptiness.
You can no longer feel the eyes on your back,
or the spiders crawling up your spine.
The flashes of light in your periphery don't haunt you.
Not now,
but make no mistake,
the absence of haunting is a haunt all its own.

Your right headlight illuminates the shoulder instead of the road. You start to gauge your position by following the white line forward. The road curves left and you follow, not needing to pay much attention. Home is close. You miss third and the engine whirs. You press the clutch and find the gear, and this is how your life feels. You need no map to find your way; you've driven these roads too many times. It has become piecework, repetition, comfort, a lazy way to stay the same course. You have become too complacent, too boring.

You remember the book.
You take it from the shelf,
knowing it's still there,
knowing no one knows.
The daisy pressed between two soiled pages.
A little bit of life left from the grave.
The life has left the flower but the color stays.
The color stays alive.
Here in your book.
Here in your mind.
From the day the man was buried.
You can always find the flower,
but what of him?
It's been ten years and the visions have stopped.
The visits have stopped,
and you don't even dream anymore.

This next left will take you home. You slow down, prepare to turn. You check the clock in the dash; it's later than you thought. Your mind races, not tired. Keep driving. Just once or twice around the block should be enough. Enough time to sort things out. You are entranced by the swishing of the wipers.

SWISH..............SWOOSH

SWISH..............SWOOSH

You start to drift.

Her smile like a sunrise,
the glow in her cheeks,
the infectious giggles all gone,
now replaced by far too many last times.
The last time you saw her,
the last time you spoke,
the last time you took her in your arms,
lifted her off the ground,
all these lasts come flooding back.
The birds don't sing so loudly now.
The butterflies don't float by.
The warmth in your arms when you remember starts to fade.
What could this mean?
If death is a door to take you from life,
than what door leads away from death?
Have your guides,
your friends,
your loves all crossed that threshold?
Have they no time left for you?
Or is this,
like all things,
temporary?

 

You accelerate now, away from home, and let your vehicle take you where it will. The thought crosses your mind. There is only one way to answer the questions. The question is how much? How much does it plague you? How strongly do you believe? How badly do you need to know?

 

Is it all just imaginations?
Is it a machination of the mind,
built to deal with grief?
Or is it real?
Is it all real?
Are they really here with you?

 

If they're with you now let them decide. You know how you miss them. Let them show you how they miss you? You haven't felt them in so long. Their presence was a drawing point, giving you strength, getting you through the obstacles, helping you to overcome. Now you're overcome.

Perhaps you should come over,
cross the first threshold and hurry towards the next,
the door to take you through death and onward.
You swerve to avoid the animal in the road and your quandary pauses. You have your answer. You pull into the driveway, take the keys from the ignition, close your eyes, and just sit.

All you can feel are smiles.

Reviews

[DesertBeachGuy]

Just when you think no one is watching over you in Rhode Island. . .
Well your story touched me.

Speaks of abandonment.
Yet is death an abandonment?
The story speaks of a spiritual maturation.

I especially like the transition between the italics and regular type face resonating between

the reality of thought and memories and the reality of the physical moment -- but I still haven't decided if its use seemed consistent to me -- same with the spacing.

You set yourself up for anothert story when you wrote:
"If death is a door to take you from life,
then what door leads away from death?"

[Michael X]

kj, your thoughts are composed in context, the content is arranged conforming to thought design, draws upon a compelling nature, conceptualized form, as face asserting words reflect subtle eccentric visualization, which in turn add to the dramatic emotional, pondering imact, forebearing anticipation yielding soul "the old ghost" as i read the first concisive sentence, it quickly struck me as a contemplative surrendering, impelling metaphorical perspective, this writing could be analyzed from many perspectives, "What if they all stopped caring?
What if your guides have all lost their way?" heart stirring perception, classic approach, the imagery is transporting, transposing as well as accentuated,"They drift and swell like breathing" there are many aspects that entwine an ethereal feeling of meditative suggestion, which is highly effective, as i read i felt the sense of being lulled to a state of calming animation, morphing into a flaunt imposing subjugational, dreading feeling, "The flashes of light in your periphery don't haunt you" transient vanishing, depthfully charged, vivdly done, defining the haunting warning, which reveals this piece, entwining the transendental steps to reach such thoughts, this was a very great reading to enlighten the senses, though many more points could be brought out, the feelings are eteranlly inspired, crossing the threshholds, thanks, mike

[AlleyCat34]

Very interesting poem I could feel the ghost here with me thats why they were gone! Sorry I didnt get back to you earlier with this review its been kinda hectic in my world as of late :) Thanks again for an awesome read!

[Alexander W. Quinn]

Clever, and original. I like the way the piece is written; it's not straight prose, it's not straight poetry but it's still a little bit of both of them. Context wise, I like that there are memories of both a male and a female lost loved one; to me it helps draw you into the concept of not just being watched over by one soul but by many. This is nicely brought together in the final line and the multiple smiles that your protagonist "feels".
Bravo, and thank you for sharing.