Beloved Ghosts

Our ghost beloveds
sometimes jog us.
Hey! The tap, or sometimes the bang,
might tell me I’m behaving badly,
being way less than the one I want to be.
A sudden seeing of self,
a little shame that makes me shift
and turn a different way.
Dear ghosts I do not relish this!
And yet I have to thank you.

Sometimes the ghost finger’s light,
pointing to a spot I hadn’t noticed:
Go this way, it’s good, you’ll see.
But unless I’m living slowly, living slowly,
I will not feel this tiny ghostly nudge.
Oh ghosts, what’s the use
of your pokes and prompts.
I pretend I don’t believe in you
but you keep on prodding and pushing
until I want to jab you back!

I offer you incense and rattling,
I take a course, I follow the rules —
but you do not, do not.
Ghosts, you elbow me and egg me on
each in the distinctive style you did when alive.
Oh beloved ghosts
your taps are intensifying
as I’m coming close to my commencement.
For all I’ve resisted your prods, beloveds,
I know that each is one I’ve needed.

©Susa Silvermarie 2026