wooden ghosts

I woke up suddenly this morning

(And you’ve been in my head,
Often.
Too often)

I smelled smoke and sprang out of bed,
leaving it unmade.
Nothing was on fire;

I made the bed.

There were two wooden ghosts on the floor.
The cats found them somewhere, I guess.
My grandfather made them, and
I cried as I set them on the mantle.

I woke up suddenly this morning,
but I am still tired, worn thin,
too tired to pretend I don’t love you.

written during a long winter