Imagine the dead walking at night

Arising from their daytime beds

To visit. To observe.

I think of my mother and what she’d say

How she’d bend down and count the wrinkles

Around my eyes and comment about my age

How my dad would want to fix things

Toasters. Microwaves. The awning on his windows.

My Grandma would smile, laugh, encourage me

To be the best possible person imaginable

And then she’d slice cheese and add crackers

Never worry about her weight

Who else would come to visit?

The previous owners of our house.

They’d drop by and tsk about the changes we’ve made

Or maybe they’d snicker at the pathetic state of the gardens

Because they don’t know about the drought

I think of them floating about in the night

Gathering together to discuss my life and shake or nod

Or smile or reach down and brush the hair off my face

And kiss my cheek and say “I love you” so softly

That it feels like a gentle breeze on a warm summer day

Then I’d wake and sense their presence

I’d sit up and look about, knowing that someone was there

See only darkness and hear only the silence of the night

And wonder. Just simply wonder what I’d missed.