Today's poem is by Lawrence Raab
Small Ghost Poem
Say it's the leaves, the way they rustle.
Say it's a shadow, the scraping of a stick.
Childhood friends, dead and buried
they're out there now, small ghosts
who never knew when enough was enough.
One who ran into a car, one who tripped
on a stone and fell on a stick that poked
through his heart. Lost and forgotten,
they've gone into the world to become
the snap of a branch, the skittering
of leaves. What are they whispering?
It's late and it's cold. They want to come in.
Copyright © 2002 Lawrence Raab All rights reserved
from River Styx
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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