Author: VJ

“My father will always be a touchstone ghost. He comes around often, especially late at night when I’m singing…” – Raymond King Shurtz

A touchstone ghost?
My father?
A thick shame falls over the morning…
Mother is dead now too, and her death, still fresh and ungrieved
also hovers

What am I to make of the absence?
parents who consumed so much of my energy –
emotional energy, for sure –

Suddenly, they are gone
and the silence echoes
bouncing off the chamber
where my guilt lies

Was I ever enough?
I thought about walking away
So many times…

But how could I?
One dependent
one abusive
both declaring love

I am not infantile
not rendered immobile
but my heart does falter

If either ghost is a touchstone
it is a measure of progress
a beacon of survival

I wish them both well
and infinite peace
and well, I also wish them gone

It is the relief that comes with their passing
that gives me pause….
am I really that cold-hearted?

No, not cold-hearted
just worn out
and longing to breathe

But ghosts linger
spirit infiltrating
generational layers

and I hear my father’s voice
in my grown son’s compassion –
a side he seldom could convey

and I see my mother’s resiliency
in a granddaughter’s determination

and I know now what the grief is…
the failure to recognize the gifts
amid the constant suffering

Even in war their are blessings
and I’ve forgotten to stop fighting
still hold my breath, waiting
for the fallout

Maybe the ghosts remain
as a reminder

that I survived.

(Written for Holly Troy’s writing prompt: Everyday Ghosts, which invites us to breathe in a prompt (the quotation) and write without pause for 5, 10, 15 minutes.)