Her War Ghosts
Her War Ghosts
The ghosts she did not know
Tinged her days, sepia shaded longing
Sadness touching upon celebrations
Cooling the edges, chilling
her laughter
The ghosts she did not know
Painted her moments, washing her walls
Their shadowy silhouettes hanging
Among family portraits
Photos of before or now lined the walls, never then
She looked into the eyes of her grandmother
Grandfather, uncle, aunts
Days, years, months before, lightness, light
Family she’d never meet
Or know
She looked at their mouths, soft
Their hands, open
Their bellies, full
Her parents never spoke of what happened
Only these three photos remained, hung
Silent
Walking the hall she struggled to capture their voices
Their words, alert to prick their whisperings
She could sense their muffled background rumblings
Standing before their faces she could feel the rise
Their anger stirring, her hatred mounting, stomach rolling
Her family had been taken
Ripped from all they’d known, stripped
Down to nothing, nothing but flesh and bones
Their bodies burned
The dust of their debris covering everything, falling
Still
She moved to Papa and Mama’s portrait, young then, before
A spring dance, lace, chiffon
Laughter filling their faces, spilling easily into gentle bodies
Ghosts she did not know
She smiled, a bit
Mama’s hand gently touched Papa’s clean-shaven cheek
Her wrist soft, clean
Their numbers inked
Embedded into flesh
Stained
Always covered now, her body shook, on guard with prickling
Her covering would slip in moments, exposed
Fear and shame contorting Mama’s face, always fear now
She longed to touch their mark
She turned to Grandmother’s portrait
She had her Grandmother’s eyes
Spoken, this brought stinging to Mama
She looked deeply, her eyes
She pressed her nose upon the glass, cold
Dust stirred
The barrier between then and now
How could they share eyes
When she’d never seen the horrors?
Her reflection mirrored back in the aged glass
Her eyes overlapping Grandmother’s
Blending and reflecting
Revealing
Her ghost