Sitting on her suitcase

Waiting

In a near empty street

The other kids

The teachers

And the coach

Went  home

Long ago

Seven years old

Small and pale

A dreamy little oddball

With long red hair

It needs a wash

Like she does

Everybody else

Is at home having tea

She is still waiting

None will come

They often forget her

With a sigh

She gets up

Dragging the case

Down the hill

They are all surprised

When she arrives

She cries

They call her a little drama queen

She takes the case upstairs

And keeps the baggage in her head for fifty years

She is my ghost

And I am hers

We haunt each other

We’ve had promises broken
Words left unspoken

Tears on our cheeks
Lonely weeks

And yet
It still surprised me when you left me.

I could wear feathers in my hair
but I still would be no bird
flying is beyond my spells.

If I drink peyote I get all out of shape
howl like a wolf
and dance like a chicken.

Whiskey makes you brave
but the next day
you want to hide under a rock.

Vultures can see for miles
gliding on thermals

your carcass may be found in the desert
picked and pecked over

white bones scattered and smashed
for their marrow

you could be a ghost
forever.

Dance with the waves,
Move with the sea.
Let the rhythm of the water
Set your soul free.