Shrouded and Cloaked

This is the kind of day

Shrouded and cloaked in clouds and showers

A day with no exclamation marks

This is the kind of day when he would have called

To share a groaner of a pun

Match calendars for lunch

Or just to see if I was still alive

Which of course he isn’t

Some ghosts linger longer than others

I’ve had my share of losses over a lifetime

Sometimes it isn’t the pain of the loss as much

As it’s empathy with the bereaved

Like the time a classmate’s younger brother

Was struck down in a traffic accident

I will always be haunted by the memory of his mother’s eyes

Noticed obliquely a few months later when I was over at their house

Her eyes shiny as polished chrome but full of grief’s infinity

Some ghosts seem bound to places

Where they passed or where we shared a moment

Or maybe a song will shuffle its way into a tendril

Of sweet remembrance

A recollection of spectral intensity

This is the kind of day

When spirits walk beside me

Shrouded and cloaked

In clouds and showers

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

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6 Comments

Filed under Poetry

6 responses to “Shrouded and Cloaked

  1. unfetteredbs

    You captured feeling a presence perfectly. I’m going to carry your words with me all day.

  2. Haunting–and the pun is not really intended. This is really, really good.

  3. Evocative words graced with profundity; beautiful! Thanks for sharing. Regards, Paul

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