Chef John Malik

a writer trapped in a cook's body

Ghosts of Parents

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Quiet and cold from November’s chill

This house now waits for warmth and voices to fill

Its once boisterous halls where grandkids held court

And aromas of bacon and coffee mingled with tales of youth and sports

“It’s never easy” the agent said

Packing, sorting, and selling the things once held precious by the dead

Oh look! she said

When I was a child this was my favorite…

Her voice trailed off as her own ghost danced through the room of twin beds

Memories?

Those are sealed tight

Kept safe away from the fading light

Only unpacked when the ghosts of parents pay a visit

to make sure she’s alright

Author: ChefJohn

Cook without tattoo, writer without a pen

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