A Haunting

I believe in ghosts: past mistakes,
yesterday's words haunting me.
When the kettle whistled,
no one took it off the stove:
ghosts screaming out.
And yet neglect
is commonplace, the stove left on,
left to burn.
The ghosts remain,
are commonplace, their figures
charred into memory, their faces
blending into mine.
And when I called out,
no one answered
but the past.