It's been years since we spoke.
That my fault, there are ghosts
everywhere, it seems, too many
to count, most are in my
mind, something you've never
understood but you've been
a damned good sport about it
all, you understand me,
just not my fear. The thing
you need to know is I
meant it back in school
and I meant it many times
since, it's not something you
forget as if it never happened,
giving word to it doesn't
make it go away. The fact
is I'm still angry, I
was sure I wouldn't wake up,
it was not a lark, I
was serious and then
I had to lie to the doctor
why I couldn't talk, my
voice sounded like a
snow blower but I could
only hear a whisper
like the sea calling from
a conch shell, for days I
saw ghosts floating on the
edge of consciousness,
everywhere, the whisper
of phantoms, our grandfather,
I spoke to him in the
asylum, saw his madness,
felt his fear itching
in my veins, for years he's
scratched me in my sleep.
The worst part is always
returning, returning,
I couldn't talk in school
and nobody noticed which was
ok but it didn't matter
there were so many ghosts
haunting the halls among
the magpies and I
didn't care about anything
except the girl with the gauze-
bandaged wrists staring
at me and listening
to our grandfather's hollow
shouts from the darkness.
Well, that's it, really, I
thought it was time to tell you
what happened, to tell you
about this fear, it's
there all the time, that
whispering, that anger calling
from the heart of things,
the darkness at the edge
of the mind, it washes
ashore and then disappears
as if it was never there
and all I can say is
it's there brother, it's
there.
