They’re always out there
Stealthy,
Silent.
Almost like the shadows.
They’re dark too.
Never come out in lights.
Only their eyes shine
And their bodies shape the light into strange shapes.
Near the kitchen window,
Especially when I get up for the night tea;
They stand between the leaves,
Do they not tire of standing?
Sometimes they come closer
And whisper things,
And it all goes dark inside and out.
I can’t speak when they talk,
It’s not a rule,
But a fact.
And then my tea is done,
Just like the night she died.
And all I got was a phone call from a strange man
Maybe her doctor,
Saying she’s in a better place.
And when the tea is done,
I say goodbye everyday.
Maybe because I couldn’t then.
I don’t remember.
But see,
Which one is her?
I don’t know.
And who else does she bring?
I don’t know.
And what does she say?
I don’t remember.
Even when I listen very very hard.
It’s just dark.
But the tea is done,
And then there’s silence.
Another kind of silence.
I don’t know it too.
And outside,
No matter how hard I look,
There’s only the leaves shining in the moon.
The mind is kind, it helps us escape from grief in many many ways. The prose in slides is about someone going through grief and finding solace in their own imagination/created reality.