A Ghost At My Table

There’s a ghost at my table
And she hasn’t eaten anything I’ve offered

I think I shall see if it’s memories she is hungry for
I have a whole pantry of those just waiting for consumption

She might like my first kisses
My late nights of lovers and tantrums
My smoking and drinking
My mistakes and my messes
She can eat my childhood in a few gulps
There’s much there that might choke her
If she were to worry it before swallowing

Perhaps I mightn’t actually, just for now
She won’t starve if I don’t feed her
There are many people in the world who forget who they are
Their memories are left by roadsides for the taking
Some are blown about by careless winds
So many bubbles of moments swept up to be engulfed by another

Mine are colour coded, labelled and dusted
Kept carefully and away from direct sunlight
In specific rows

I think I’ll keep my memories,
I’ll eat them all for myself,
They will be sumptuous and delicious

My ghost can wait
For now

3 thoughts on “A Ghost At My Table

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