Ghost

At first, a slight faint or trace

Then a displaced Civil War image

Reflected in a gold-framed mirror

Her body, not her soul, now nonexistent.

She moved from room to room noiselessly

No cold drafts, no sounds of footsteps

Glided along in her silken white dress

As to her beauty, I couldn’t help but notice.

Her facial expression was intimate, yet unidentifiable

Watching more closely, they became involuntary –

As-if testifying to thoughts she was keeping secret

Then with her hands, began gesturing . . .

I was sent to the home to collect paranormal evidence

Make observations using electrical equipment of various types

She had been seen numerous times in a second story window –

Passer-byes reactions ranged from fainting to screams.

When I entered the post-Civil War home

I soon discovered that she was more than just a limitation

of human perception – she was more than a sighting

The only thing in this home merely mislaid was time.

. . . gesturing, to come outside to the hollow ground

I followed her cautiously to a small cemetery, somewhat somber

She pointed to her husband’s grave, died in 1862, then pointed to another – a headstone with my name on it, we both had died at Antietam.

Song; Born To Lose 

Copyright © 2007 Tinka Boukes & R. Lance Sheridan