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.