Disturbing The Dead, by Christopher Hileman

Disturbing The Dead
by Christopher Hileman

You have asked of me
an utterly frank discourse
about the small ghosts
who clutter my curd.

What am I most afraid of?
you ask, punching holes
in my skin, bloodless
and swollen like insect bites.

Staring you down won’t
work. I know because
I tried that aeons before
now in burial
grounds so ancient rhyme
was not yet an invention
and men did not write.

Christopher Hileman moved to Oregon in 1973. He has retired to live on the volcanic bluff overlooking Willamette Falls in Oregon City, Oregon. He ascends the stairs from his basement digs to improvise on his Yamaha keyboard or the house Playel grand when the calico cat releases him from below. The part-Irish Wolfhound here likes him.

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2 thoughts on “Disturbing The Dead, by Christopher Hileman

  1. I like it, esp, that first stanza though after all this time I don’t want a discourse anymore.
    “now in burial
    grounds so ancient rhyme
    was not yet an invention
    and men did not write.” let the sleeping things lie. Really nice poem, you always reach the depths of a thing.

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