Giving Voice

it’s been awhile
since this medium
conjured up the dead

I should know better
than to leave the house
while they fight
among themselves
for a chance to speak

I sit on the porch
by candle light
wishing I had a clove
cigarette and more time
to decide
who speaks first
who may have to wait
at the end of the line

there’s the elderly couple
dressed in pale grey suits

they say I’m their daughter

have I seen my brother?

the disembodied poet is
looking for a distraction

a little action
and he thinks it’s me

then there’s the bored ones
they’re more than a bit peeved

as there’s nothing vaguely arousing

in the bedrooms that they haunt

I can’t help wondering
who I’ll visit
when I’m dead
I’ve got a list started
it’s not that long
but I wave it in friends’

and family’s faces
say, you don’t want to be
on this list

they get quiet for awhile
cock their heads at odd angles

as if they almost hear me
almost see me
sitting on their porch


This poem was previously published in a Sam’s Dot Publication about ten+ years ago. I’m planning to do a series of these. . .






























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