Flowers for Ghosts

A woman is readying
for her ghosts
to visit. On the subway
platform, she adjusts her
stroller's bulky load
of cut flowers. It's time again
to build a million momentary
gardens, vases of color
mingling amidst the rhythms
of smoke and voices.

Mumble us closer.
We promise to reappear,
but it's impossible
to say what shape we'll take.
So, try to not kill
spiders, mosquitos or centipeds
until after Obon.

Last night I found
a curiously curious
cockroach watching me
three times. First, near the door.
Next, beneath the chair.
Finally, from against the wall.
Each time, it allowed me
to get too close, only
dashing away when I showed
some violent intent.
Without evidence
I suspect my mother
borrowed some ephemeral
vehicle of insectoid mobility
to come say hello
or simply see
if she is still remembered.

by jerry gordon
8.12.2015