Hugging a Haunting
“I longed to embrace my dead mother’s ghost”. Hamlet XI 204
I long to hug my mother’s ghostly form,
When the moonlight pries and shadows swarm,
Amidst the snuffles of the snoring night,
where memories like gauche phantoms bite.
Her face, haunts the showcase of my dreams,
Her voice chills my trembling bones like ice-creams.
For her I search in dark alcoves, on dusty shelves,
In echoes where the past stumbles over itself.
Her uncanny breeze, slips through my groping squeeze
Like trying to hold a burp or catch a sneeze,
But in my heart, she lingers like old socks,
Never quite worn out, yet their presence stalks
Her love generates my lantern’s watts.
And weaves through the cobwebs of my thoughts.
I crave her tender affection, her ghostly charms,
and find comfort in her see-through arms.
In silence, I chat with her bedclothes,
Spilling my guts, my gripes, my woes,
And though her voice is just a creepy loop,
It soothes me like a bowl of chicken soup.
Mumsy, though the grave has claimed your shell,
This sentimental sap is haunted by your spell.
We are forever bound by strings that death can’t snip,
I long to hold you close, albeit in my spooky kip.
Love you mom
Copyright ©
Sean Kibble
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