Ghosts on the Water

By Joanne Sprott

Ghosts of grandfathers
curling like smoke over the grill,
long gone it is to rust and ruin.

I remember the charcoal smell
of that perfect patty, still.

Vapors of tasseled hammocks
creaking on old hooks,
now they're buried in tree growth.

I remember the swing
of being toes in the air, still.

Shafts of arrows long ago
thumping into target bales.
straw and fletches have gone to earth.

I remember the glory
of aiming true and releasing, still.

Shades of old garden ladies
cocking straw hats toward the sun,
their proud pansies are gone to seed.

I remember the life
Of soil on my fingers, still.

Moonbeams of swimmers
gliding through water,
now they're just ripples of wind.

I remember the cold
of that first brave dive, still.

Wraiths of child laughter
echoing in a piney breeze,
now lost to work and parenthood.

I remember jumping free
on those pine beds, still.

Only the shreds of memories remain,
of merry meetings and farewell sighs,
and the light of the ghosts on the water.

3/2/03
©2003 Joanne Sprott