The Ghost of You

 

A version of our life together

sits in a frame

in our daughter’s room,

smiling back at her while she sleeps —

these two people

role playing a perfect scene

in some foreign Spanish film

whose protagonist

turned into the antagonist

in later years.

Tucking her in,

I stare at those two strangers,

the ghost of you

transparent

with the secrets of lifetimes

you participated

with so many others.

The interpretation of me

is of cellophane

covering rubbish.

That young woman has been buried

with the ex-composition of you

that so eloquently seems to smile

back from the glass,

encased in the lack of understanding

for her needs.

You haunt memories,

escaping the emotions

with your Houdini acts

that left only a version

of the apparition

we thought was you.

Armor Plated Heart

armor

I find happiness in your arms,

embraced by the suit  of armor,

as I lay against your shielded heart

while you try so well

to hide the past inside.

I feel your beat:

pitty-patty,

thump-thump,

lub-dub,

jumping inside the armor.

I cannot reach it.

I cannot remove the fears.

I cannot erase

your previous stories.

At times I’m impulsive

and frustrated

because I want so much

to hear all your sensations

clearly

instead of mild vibrations

echoing through the metal

of your suit.

Frequently the noise seems

so shallow and I ask myself

if you are even human.

Someday the metal

armor plated covering

must come off

and I will cherish

the sounds,

the touch,

the scents

of finally reuniting with your soul…

the one I met a thousand years ago.