Telling stories to the dead
brings them back to life
for just a short time.

Time spent with them
can pass like molasses
through an hourglass,

although I never seem
to mind.

It helps me as much as it
does them;
I get to live the ghost-life
for a brief stint too.

Being born in 1947
instead of ’75.

It feels like a different
kind of alive.

History has sharp teeth,
an unkind bite.

It’s okay.

We’ll share the scars
for a while.

*

- JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications; 2017