I was five, I said no,
I don’t want his name behind my name.
As if I sensed what was to come.
But the tree was rooted, or rather re-rooted.
And I grew thereby
proving perhaps his parenthood.
Uglier then uglier versions of me,
on me like a cheap suit.
Then you don’t rise from ashes
without having been in the fire.
My spirit surviving through
the ghost of who I was
vanishing as the old warthog’s ashes
splashed into the swamp
from the boardwalk at fisherman’s landing.

Writing RXercising.


3 responses to “Ghost-busting”

  1. Reblogged this on Reena Saxena and commented:
    Ghost-busting … Artie

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: