When I think back to Ellen -
Long forgotten by relatives or acquaintances -
Through my mind book,
Peeling back the layers
Of dead people’s memories,
People pleading to be remembered
To be partly immortal,
I think maybe I am the only one to have
Disturbed her, asleep so long in that other world:
For she is still, not dead,
As long as I remember her.
In moveless crowds they lie, waiting,
Waiting as if for a ship,
Which may never dock beside them,
But still they wait.
And when I disturb her, or another beside,
They crowd around to listen to the conversation
From the other world,
Where people still remember.
Each hopes to be disturbed some day
By a memory gleaned
From the layers peeled back in a mind book,
Or by the arrival of the ship.