I´ve been saying goodbye for years.
So why won´t you go?
You are dead.
And we´d been divorced for 12 years.
How is it you reppear,
uninvited, presumptuous, self- centered
content to show up in my mind´s eye-
there, under those almond trees
where we rode our bikes on my 20 th birthday,
in the Italian countryside;
or sliding up beside me
al traffic ligths,
a phantom with your pale hair,
reddish beard, round face?
I´m tired of these ghostly visitations
I forgive you.
What the dead do, Cher Holt- Fortin, robado de Regrests Only. Edited by Martha Manno.