Tuesday, October 23, 2012

GHOST POEMS by Barbara Alfaro


GHOST GIRL

 
In a concert hall with eleven

chandeliers, four clever musicians

play, as the ghost of a girl

pops through an invisible loop,

swims in the air, her sheer white

gown easy and comfortable,

her escape from the watchers

delighting her.

 

Pausing, playing, turning upright,

she holds a huge glass tier

in the way a subway rider

holds on to a strap, her small

incandescent feet dangling

in the air like notes on a vast page.

 

 

 

THE ROCKING CHAIR

 
In the nursery the ghost of a boy stands

on a rocking chair, holding its back.

A miniature prisoner of wood,

he is looking through its slats.

He misses the crazy little dog

who barks at the toaster, his tomboy

sister, and toasted cheese sandwiches.

 

“I don’t know why you insist on keeping

that rocker,” the father said. “As far

as I’m concerned, it’s like honoring

a murder weapon.” The eyes of the boy’s

mother move slightly, her only reply.

 

Gentle prayers dance in the air like a child

breathing bubbles through a circle on a stem.

 

The boy places goodbye kisses on the faces

of his sister and mother, touches his father’s hand.

 

And now he is with me his First Mother…