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Ghosts on the Water

By Joanne Sprott

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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