I don’t mean to become a ghost
But sometimes I can’t help it.
When the spaces I haunt begin to show,
The places that spread my spirit across the map;
This and that, too private,
Become pain that makes me gasp –
The heart that holds the ribs
And the head; a haunt just out of place
May is the month I go home to visit.
Home is neither a place I can stay too long, nor a place I can stay away from too long. That is the simple truth of it.
When time has stretched a bit too much between visits, it gets to the point where the place won’t let me rest. It feels like something deep inside gasping for breath. It’s a ridiculous situation.
It’s currently an unfixable situation. I’m not going home to visit this May. Perhaps August, perhaps October; at least then my haunting activities will be in time with the season.