Paranormal Experiences
My father's cloud scuds across the sky, a sparkle
in his eye, his mouth moves North to South, whispers
my name along the wind, my ears can almost hear
the sound; it rumbles toward the ground from West to East,
my heart enjoys the feast.
Awakened in the night I look to see whose hand
has touched my hair and in the darkness standing there
I think I see my father where I know in truth an empty chair
confronts the dying embers of my fire.
I rise to give the fire a stoke, throw another log in place,
strain to see whose ghost has graced my solitude
and in my haste I fail to see what hand has traced
my name upon the frosted mirror.
In the ground these forty years and in my mind
the time between his interment in the humid summer
earth and the cold reality of this winter day a thousand
miles and memories away.
Up from the ground his deep voice sounds. I stand above
the stone in expectation of a truth to be revealed,
an explanation these long years concealed.
I sense the grasp
of his intention, a gentle tug upon my sleeve; is there a rustle
on the evening breeze or is it just another creature of the night,
awakening now, gliding with the moon among the clouds
to disappear without a trace, and now, the moment gone,
the reflection of his face.
Author: Bob McAfee
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