Ghosts on the Water
Ghosts of grandfathers
curling like smoke over the grill,
long gone it is to rust and ruin.
I remember the charcoal smell
of that perfect patty, still.
Vapors of tasseled hammocks
creaking on old hooks,
now they're buried in tree growth.
I remember the swing
of being toes in the air, still.
Shafts of arrows long ago
thumping into target bales.
straw and fletches have gone to earth.
I remember the glory
of aiming true and releasing, still.
Shades of old garden ladies
cocking straw hats toward the sun,
their proud pansies are gone to seed.
I remember the life
Of soil on my fingers, still.
Moonbeams of swimmers
gliding through water,
now they're just ripples of wind.
I remember the cold
of that first brave dive, still.
Wraiths of child laughter
echoing in a piney breeze,
now lost to work and parenthood.
I remember jumping free
on those pine beds, still.
Only the shreds of memories remain,
of merry meetings and farewell sighs,
and the light of the ghosts on the water.
©2003 Joanne Sprott
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