THE HAUNTING

Today I shall use one of my poems to look at a love lost; a never forgotten love. I am the poet and she is the graceful love that was.

The title hints at the nostalgia-ridden subconscious one lives with when one cannot bear to let go. The mysterious protagonist is still remembered by those close to the poet. She still exists as part of the social structure that frames family and friends. She is, at times, brought up in conversation. However, to everyone, ‘she’ is just chatter; a topic of conversation. She is certainly not so for the poet. He had loved the person behind the name. The sound of that name, dropped so casually in conversation, is a truly painful jolt to the poet’s senses. It is a sudden bolt into the buried past of something that had come, and that had gone.  The poet cannot physically react to this emotional shock and stifles his explosive feelings with perfunctory social interaction, with… “thank-yous / and please”.

Joe Vandello - Cocktail Party

Now the name is out there, he cannot resist her lure. He feels he must delve into that memory and dig deeper to bring it back and to relive that lingering youthful emotion:

Do you ever feel
Oh do you feel

the need to steal 
and reel
from chasms deep
that one forgotten 
fragment of a face
that haunts 
latently 
lingers
patiently 
lingers  

He wants to bring her back. He wants to experience that unique explosive love of youth again, but he must hide her from the others. He will not speak her name, and he will use his masks of social niceties to hide it and to…

tuck it
nonchalantly 
camouflaged 
between cucumber 
sandwiches
and tea

Nobody realises that the poet is struggling with this ghost from the past. The social interaction pleasantly continues and everyone is conveniently satisfied.

THE HAUNTING

I have heard her name
over toast and teas
have feigned a fondness
for pastries 
thank-yous 
and please

Do you ever
stumble
upon a name
that jolts 
your hand-me-down 
approximation 
of a life

Do you ever hear 
that name
dropped 
for convenience 
with an olive 
in your martini

Deftly 
dropped
with a smile
as garnish 
laced with style

Do you ever feel
Oh, do you feel

the need to steal 
and reel
from chasms deep
that one forgotten 
fragment of a face
that haunts 
latently 
lingers
patiently 
lingers  

to tuck it
nonchalantly 
camouflaged 
between cucumber 
sandwiches
and tea

to smile
and sip
and say
nice day