Speculation

Close together, we chat. Relatives, cousins - our mothers: the twins. In the wind, ghosts; we speculate. We wonder while we chitchat and munch. Distant memories of practical jokes, tokes; days before she ran away; & not questioning her upon her return. Sitting on my lavender bedspread; laughing, listening; forlorn-ing. Her i.d. tags, army surplus look, blonde hair; my long locks, dark brunette. In the Summer week, we speculate on ghosts; something we know nothing about. We stood, took turns standing over his coffin - her brother joked to relieve the tense. All together, our gang; our mother’s brother was twenty-five… My cousin was fifty-two; in the wind, ghosts, I’ve surpassed speculation, leans differently today, knowing one day, this world will fade, as another comes into view. Close together, we’ll chat, as relatives speculate.