Afterlife

.


There isn’t any dark underbelly
or shadow clad evil waiting to drag us
kicking into the opening roots of a bloody tree.

You won’t find that the room temperature
drops and a pale figure appears dripping wet
because the previous owner of the house
wants you to find her bones at the bottom of a well.

But you will see that shock of grey hair
walking up the hill with her shopping bags
as you drive past and think for a moment
it was her.

You will kneel in the garden
to tie off daffodils and remember that
she showed you how to do it.

You will hear your name being called
when you play loud music and turn it down
to listen for that voice again.

You will be asked to spare some change
by a man in the supermarket
who smells of sweet sherry and Sunday roast.

So you see, this is how they come to haunt us,
to make us remember, this is how they keep a foot
in our world, this is how we hold on.

© savvi 2020
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critique and comments welcome.
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Mikeverdi

I bloody love this, it’s as it is. I can recall sensing much of this; even years later. On the critique side, it does need a tidy, prune a few words. I know I always say it HaHa!
Mike

Capricorn

Love this one Keith! Have to agree with Mike about giving it a prune! Do it gradually, then it won’t be so painful. LOL!
Great read
Eira

Sweetwater

Funny this poem should be on here now, I heard an accordion player in town on Saturday he was playing ‘Oh Susanna’ ( don’t you cry for me ) My dad used to sing this to me when I was very young, I haven’t heard it in years, but immediately I was that child again with my dad.
I loved reading your poem and it is so true. Sue.

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