The Ghost

Drinking made me closer
to my ancestors, I told myself
alone on the couch

while my family slept down the hall

Like looking into the houses
of strangers at night—the people
are familiar, a little bit
golden, gilded, framed in time

They would welcome me if they could

But language is sticky, syntax gutted—
Do you ever miss me
I ask the man
who was my grandfather

I know you liked the bottle, too

Did you like how it tasted of flowers
And something sharp and sad—
resin in which to encase the flowers

Do you see how it stopped time

Chasing skirt is one way of phrasing it
I owe my life to your dalliance

My grandmother embroidered flowers
A whole tapestry of them, sitting
In the late afternoon cocktail light

She never said a word about you