not only ghosts and the living.
Objects speak, too
Sometimes, I stop listening
they disappear or fall asleep
Other times, more persistent objects
throw themselves at my feet—
Like you, plastic Ken doll torso
headless, arms and legs gone
at rest in the funeral home driveway
I see you, forget
see you, forget again
After days of this, you’re muddier
and more battered
but still there so I eventually choose you,
write you down on paper,
Here You Are—no cheap joke
about a blind date (Because you’re headless, see?)
Just this—my thank you note
for your steadfast reminder
to notice the world
Puff Of Smoke Poems 