i hear a rustling
like dried leaves
caught in a hot wind
coming from the spare room
i surprise my father
in the act of changing clothes
though silent
he seems angry
mouth clenched closed
like a vise
eyes squinting in judgment
you know you’re dead, right?
next year
he will be one hundred years old
and has been haunting me
from house to house for almost
a quarter of that century
both he and the clothes
are transparent
and when i remind of
of his non-corporeal state
he loses the angry look
though burly in life
he shrugs his grave-thin shoulders
fades away
with the sound of a brittle page
of an old book being turned
Words and Feathers 
Wow! This is powerful!
I submitted my 30/30 poem for today (Day 17) late, so it won’t post until tomorrow, but it seems we have a bit of synchronicity happening.
Very cool! I can’t wait to see it.
I love this. Maybe because it makes me think of my own father, burly, books, dead for the last quarter century. But he hasn’t haunted me. It’s a shame because I would have enjoyed having him around.
👻
I like this one very much, Mr. Crow.
Thank you, Merril. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
You too, huh? Brilliant poem, gave me chills and made me grin at the same time.
Hell, we’re all haunted. I’m happy it spoke to you and that it made you grin.
“grave-thin shoulders”
Nice touch.
Thanks!
Gave me goosebumps but in a good way. I feel the presence of both my parents and others and find it comforting. ☺
😊
Excellent, Charles. I got chills.
Good. It’s my goal to make you shiver.
Ah, my hero! 😘