Keeping the Ghosts Warm

He insisted on keeping a heater going

To keep the pipes from freezing, he said.

He kept the lights going

So nobody would know that 

Only the ghosts live there now.

He kept the same phone number

That was mine, but hers and theirs before me.

Everything remained the same

From the flaking linoleum on up and 

Out the rusting chimney pipe.

The carpet stayed, even with the greasy stain

From ham drippings on a Christmas past.

When her pink dogwood died  

You’d think I deliberately bombed it

And used the splinters to pick my teeth.

Everything that succumbed to gradual decay

Was a misstep I’d made in the curation of this shrine.

Reluctantly, I tried to make it mine

But when I looked in the mirror all I saw was her face

Her graying hair, her stooped shoulders, her square hands.

So rather than resign myself to taking her place

I left and it was for the best.

-Diane Hubbard