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There is land that I love
Cabins that mean little
I don’t mind the cabin with ghosts
The ghost of my mother
The ghost of my sister
Because The ghosts aren’t there.

My sister, my father, my mother
Are in the otters in the water
Playing and diving
My grandmother is in the mink
My grandfather is a dragonfly
My uncle is a snapping turtle
My other uncle just died
Honestly I think he is a rock
Because he was so stubborn
And insufferable and insecure
So now he is a rock
And his wife, damaged but brave
I think she is a merganser mother
With the nine babies
Taking care of all of them
And Sam is a bear of course
He was when he was alive too
And his son is the parent grebe
Protective, hiding the young
And leading my canoe away
To fool me
And Sam’s brother, who is he?
I hope he is the fox, tilting his head
And listening each night when we read
Harry Potter aloud
Or a chipmunk
Accepting peanuts from my daughter’s fingers
And running
Screaming and swearing
From the mink
And then swearing
Over our heads
For a full thirty minutes.

The ghosts are not in the cabins.

I have made peace with them.
I honor them, each one.
I listen in the day
I listen in the night
I take note of dreams
I know that all angels fall
Fall for the people
Who can’t admit they’ve fallen
Who can’t admit mistakes
Who try to hide the evidence
Who hide the broken shards of glass
Inside their bodies.

I read a book
That speaks of mind, body, emotion and spirit
Spirit is where I go to write poems
I start the poem with a question
And wait to hear an answer

I listen to that spirit
Then any person in the world


Family waits
For the other shoe to drop

But I took my shoes off
To go in the sea

They can have my shoes
And all of it

I am in the ocean
In the lake
In the raindrop
In the tears
In the water
In blood

I am in the ocean
with the ghosts

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