Part II

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

So I remained still,

and what found me were ghosts

wanting me to give them names.

Though they had come and lingered before,

they had never asked this of me before,

and it wasn’t hard,

it was like remembering the names

of lovers,

or the one name they shared,

and, actually, it was this,

exactly this,

and I was astonished by the profound simplicity

of it.

One ghost,

One name.

And, it wasn’t God.

~

I didn’t pay much attention in church growing up.

I scribbled on the yellow-toned donation slips that 

were tucked into

the back pocket of the pews.

It provided distraction from my father’s sobs and

my mother’s down-turned face,

and the shame-cast looks of those sitting in front,

behind,

and to the sides.

But that was only for one year.

The ministers didn’t want us back after he left.

~

I’ve been thinking on things, like:

Angler fish

and alligator snapping turtles

and venus fly traps.

In clever ways, they say:

“Come here,

I have something to offer you.”

You think it’s something good.

Something you want.

Something that will make you feel better,

and all the while they are just hoping

that you are gullible enough

to let them devour you.

It’s not personal.

It’s just what they do,

and it wouldn’t seem reasonable

to apologize for it.

~

And that’s when the white dove

returned

to me,

alighted so gently within me.

Firmly.

She is my re-membrance of me

as something holy.

~

That ghost is no longer Holy.

I am.

© 2014-2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World"

This poem follows another entitled, 'In the Morning.'
Published by Talking Waters Press
Available from Amazon.com and other major retailers

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