THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE CATS know what I mean when I say that I had the distinct feeling this morning that Milo was staring at my aura. Not at me, but something that may have been surrounding me, or perhaps clinging to me. I stared back and asked, "What"? Like I expect an answer. "What?", again. Hmmm, no answer. I can't get over that, that he knows something and won't tell me.x
I did the best I could, I moved out of the room. Hopefully solved the problem. Must have. Milo went back to playing with some trash. Yes, but what does Milo know, and when did he know it?
xI come from a long line of mystical speculators. In fact I even got around to publishing a book of poetry about a year ago called "Two Ghosts", chock full of poems with spooky undertones.
xLast year I posted the following poem on my blog, sort of a reflection of my very early confrontation with the spectral. Here it is again.
x
SOUNDLESS
x
Late in the afternoon
as the sun swept its final glow
across the sky,
I sat in the kitchen
with a blue lined pad
arranging my homework for tomorrow.
x
No noise was heard
of footsteps approaching.
Then suddenly
my grandmother was at my side.
I gasped
in surprise again,
and wondered why
she made no sound.
x
Because, she said,
that's how we were in the village
where I was a child.
People floated when they wished to
and I learned their natural ways.
Not as high as the ceiling,
just inches from the floor.
x
I asked if they were ghosts.
She said no, not at all.
Ghosts
are able to do so much more.
x
x
"TWO GHOSTS"/poems/Lyn Rochelle
x
x
