Staring at Ghosts

I am never completely detached
From those who have left.

I think I’ve made peace
Closed the chapter
Moved on
Consigned the relationship
To the tomb
Removed it as far as east is from west
Buried it in the deepest of seas
To be remembered no more.

Such is not the case.

Names...
(Unuttered by my lips
Yellowed with the paper
Upon which they are printed)
Linger.

Feelings long thought numb
Lie just under the surface
And with little provocation
Emerge into bright daylight
Leaving me without a clue
On how to handle them.

But I have learned one thing…
It is not necessary to stand around
Staring at ghosts.
They won’t communicate anyway
So there is no margin trying.

Take up smoking.
Have sex.
Read the obituaries.
Rotate your tires.
Mow the lawn.
Do anything, except look heartache in the eye.

Trust me on this.