Life Among the Spirits

 

Unexpectedly, they appear,

inviting me to relive

a past now vanished.

But I can neither

be here nor there,

with life interposed.

It's getting cold and colder,

and I am getting older.

We keep ourselves warm,

and also the dogs,

and we put a little rosemary

in the ma-te.

I asked the one

who knows me best

what I should do.

"Keep her," she said,

Or perhaps it was "Guard her,"

or "Protect her," since all

these meanings are in

the Spanish that she

may have been speaking

(I think in both,

and can't be sure),

"because you yourself

are no prize."

I can't be sure.

It's possible to be

pussy-whipped

by ghosts.

But life goes on,

and we put a little 

rosemary, from our garden,

in our ma-te.

What poet was it who said,

"But I am no longer me,

and my country is no longer

my country."

(It was Federico García Lorca, in "Romance sonámbulo.")

Digo "Amén".

Actually, I misquoted Lorca. What he said was, "pero yo ya no soy yo, ni mi casa es ya mi casa."

(even more appropriate)