A Haunted Deja-Vu Poem by Patti Masterman

When you leave a room forever
(As a hotel room, or a waiting room in some foreign town) ,
Though you know you may never go there again,
It pull's on your mind's substance, somehow
Acquiring an existence larger than life,
Imbuing your memory, with the breath of expectation:
Uncomplete, never finished.

You probe your mind afterwards, wondering
What was left undone, unsaid, unthought, unaccomplished.
You realize this place will stay with you indefinitely,
An alternate stillborn, stubborn dimension
Where some microcosmic quanta of self remains aware;
Un-decomposing, not recoverable.

We miss so much of the bigger picture,
Is it surprising things might go on beneath the surface;
Imagining we are within feet of others, who should have inhabited
All our waking days; or near the grave of someone
Hidden beneath our sight, who should have been
Our nearest and dearest; but through chance or mundane error,
Now they are become only thin, ghostly fingers
Prickling at our brain-pans, like a haunted deja-vu.