This feels like home

I wake, stretch my way to the kitchen,

put the kettle on, ritual, and again, I notice

the shadow of your coffin lining the skirting boards, it creeps

towards me, wraps its way around my ankle, crawling up, up,

past the hem of my dressing gown, clawing at my breasts, reaching higher, I'm screaming

because that shadow can still lift me off the ground

like a noose, dropping me, smashing me into the washing basket

down on my knees I look up

and I'm staring, staring through the

folds of soapy water caressing your shirts, like I used to,

I catch glimpses of your face, making me wonder

what kind of spirit is this?