The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Apr 17, 2004
The Half-Life
She lives in the half-life,
Standing in the world of men,
Gazing into the world of ghosts,
Waiting, longing for them to claim her.
They come to her while she makes beds,
Washes clothes, takes the trash cans to the
Kerb for Friday pick-up.
She speaks to them,
Hums their favourite songs,
Laughs to herself at jokes
Only they would understand.
Shadows beckon and whisper her name.
Her children watch helplessly
As she moves farther and farther away
She has nothing left to give them.
Shadows are more real to her now
Than flesh and blood.
The faces come to her in her dreams.
Her mother laying apples on the roof of
The garden shed to dry;
Her father propping a scarecrow in the
Porch swing for Halloween;
Her handsome older brother straddling his
Motorcycle and riding away
Never to be seen alive again;
Her husband as he was when they first met -
Tall and strong and filled with life.
One face does not come.
The child that was taken so young,
The child that never learned how to
Laugh or play or dance.
She tries to remember her face,
The shape of her nose,
The colour of her eyes.
That sparkle over shoulder -
Is that her?
Soon she will move into the shadows.
Already their hands are reaching out for her.
She goes about her daily chores
Waiting for them to touch her.
