The Ghosts That Haunt Me

I see dead people flicker past
the corner of my eye
as I potter around the house.
They’re particularly persistant
when I’m in the bathroom
and naked.
Perhaps it’s the ghost
of a dirty old man.
But I hope not.

Once,
I felt someone touch my face,
and I hoped
(wished, wanted)
that it was my grandmother;
dead four years today.

The lights flicker sometimes
when I speak of her.
I like to imagine that she’s here
watching my children grow,
overseeing the baby learn to crawl.

My daughter’s eyes are the exact colour
that hers were.
I look into them
and wonder if
anyone can see
my grandmother in her,
or if it’s just me.

I see ghosts
at the edges of my vision.
They dance, taunting me
with their insubstantiality.
When I turn to look,
I notice that the cats are watching too
and it gives me hope that
I’m not imagining it.