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.