I sometimes think you died in the hospital

And me, famous family denier

Cannot accept or just doesn’t know

That the heart attack was fatal

Drove you home from the hospital

Talked to you

But maybe I conjured you up

As I broke down


No physical contact

So don’t know if you’re a ghost

Would my hand penetrate your shape

If I reached out to touch?

Don’t really want to test my theory

We sometimes speak

Mostly, you’re a disappearing specter

Silently, suddenly appearing in a room

Sitting quietly

Staring at me


No one has seen you in years

Just me

So I question my fears

Are you real?

My shattered soul

Is taking longer to heal

I just don’t know


At night I hear a voice


A clickety-clacking brain like mine

Leaping among the shoals of conception

Tumbling in the tides of ideas

Am I reading your mind,

Or do ghosts communicate like that?

Must I pick out the important parts

Of your manic communication

In order to gauge sanity?


I sometimes believe you survived

I sometimes believe I’m the one who died…


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE: Ghost (Mirror Online)


  1. Wow, that is deep thinking; it reminds me of my Dad; just in a different way, I know the subject is your Dad…It is a shame you waited so late in life to try to get some poetry and other written word out there; I guess the Internet helps make it possible.
    Good poem, I won’t ask why.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks so much, Paladin! I know you have some wonderfully written books out there and I have to fling your words to me back to you: don’t wait so long to publish! xo


  2. Thanks, Noora! I’m glad you’re back because I enjoy your blog so much. I may not comment because I’m often overwhelmed by the kindness of followers but following you means that I genuinely adore your work!


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