I can picture the ghosts here.
Who lived here before?
For how long and when?
I see them seated
Around a small dinner table.
I hear soft music
And witness slow-dancing
In the kitchen.
I can feel them in my heart;
Their laughs, their weeping,
The anguish they felt when
A loved one died.
Or the nervous smiles
When they sent their child
Off to school for the first time.
I can see the smiles.
I can see the frowns during
Midnight talks at the dinner table.
I can feel the love,
The hatred that gets wiped away
Just before bedtime.
I can see the ghosts here.
The walls have a memory,
Absorbed. They tell me.
Or I must have let my imagination
Get away from me once again.