If there are ghosts, then I think
they are the ghosts of children.
They must be the ghosts of children –
the sounds you hear are a slap dash
of running feet, a shard of laughter,
a moment of song.

Children who sing.
Children who slide into small spaces,
who creep through the dark
and then emerge into sunlight,
children who dream of full bellied sleep,
children who can still dream.

If there are ghosts, I am haunted
by the ghosts of children,
all the lost children, snatched
by the ocean, left behind
in the deep dark of the world,
the wraith children who faded away
in silence. Only their breath.

We are hunkering down as Storm Brendan passes overhead. This is for the other Brendan and the Earthweal project. 


8 thoughts on “Haunted

  1. Oh, those are very sobering ghosts to contemplate, haunting indeed. I love your poems,Sarah. They show your heart. Children are suffering everywhere now, and I worry it will get worse.


  2. Children are certainly a brood in the breviary of ghosts — so faintly and softly articulated here (o that 2d stanza!) with all the touch of a child gone, by storm or abandonment or a falling it hurts to much to see. Yesterday a great wave swept a father and two children off the Oregon coast out to sea. Lonely voices inside that storm. (But don’t blame it on this Brendan…)


  3. “children who dream of full bellied sleep,” The line haunts me. Yes, there are so many of them in our country. Both, motherless children and childless mothers. what a world we live in!


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