Hauntings

Final call at the bar
One of the last to leave,
And this old bloke and me
Talking about hauntings.
Not rattling poltergeists,
We saw all those off, early on.
When you remember something
You wish hadn’t happened;
A shame that comes upon you
In the dark, leaves you cringing – 
A cold something walking through you
That’s haunting.
He drank his beer,
His sorrow pooling at my feet.

But not for me those
Shadowed figures by the bed
That torment with your own heart.
For me, it’s when I run my fingers
Over the sheets of my own life and feel
Something powerful, its edges
But then: nothing.
Like a friend opening a window, saying
Do you remember? But the window’s
Wedged shut, the frame all
Splintered and bust as if from
Some violent entrance,
The stealing of some richness
I taught her, he said this,
You read me that,
I am haunted by these absences
The closing round an empty space.