Ghosts in the Coal Mines
The ghosts no longer haunt you.
They have become, if not exactly friends,
arriving when invited,
leaving when they have used up their welcome,
conversationalists with a history,
some black, some bloody, some white
with a hint of holiness.
That is plenty, that hint.
More than I deserve.
Certainly more than I expected
looking for diamonds in a coal mine,
covered in dust.
About this poem.
I realized not long ago how many of my ghosts have stopped visiting. No idea why. Don’t care. But it IS interesting.