Phantom Pains

Typewriter poem #3

Phantom Pains

Something is missing

And in the gaping emptiness left behind

It feels like sinking

I can feel the wind blow through

The icy fingers of some lost love

Or maybe a dead parent, an ancient ancestor

A Scottish spirit or a dead French poet

Some love I never knew

Finding a home in my vast emptiness

Taking up residence and adding furniture

Rooms full of baggage

Covered with dust and cobwebs

and the emptiness gets comfortable

Kicks up its feet and leans back

On a sofa of shadows

And I suffer

And try to figure out what was lost

So I can know what I need to mourn