Ghost Song #11
“Well, I waited for you inside the frozen traffic
When you knew I had some other place to be”
Morning snow and now the road has frozen.
Cars slide on ice, twist off into ditches.
In the blare of sirens, I hear your voice,
another blast of cold, a memory of gale force
winds. Winter begins again. For six months
you will dig your way back to the land of blood
and breath. You will carry the loaves of hunger,
drag some snarling dog who pulls against
the leash. Back over the river you row, your boat
tossed on black waves that break over gunnels
soaking your boots. It was always this way,
with you repeating cycles of birth and retreat.
Last time I nailed you down and laid a block
of granite over you with your ghost name carved
so deep, my finger couldn’t feel the stone behind.
But here you come again, wailing and hungry
like some red-faced child whose future
has not dried and turned to dust and blown away.
Copyright © Steven F Klepetar 2016
Steve Klepetar’s work has appeared widely, and several of his poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Recent collections include My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press) and Return of the Bride of Frankenstein (Kind of a Hurricane Press).