Haunted Poem by Jean Renwick

Rain used to evoke in you certain feelings
And leave companions recovering with satiated smile
As it pounded garden, window and tile.
Fluid now pours from other body parts
And recovery is a long time arriving.

An old stone house with broad sheltering porch
Stands waiting for your second, third, fourth habitation,
With rooms to hide in,
Rooms to fall apart in.
Outside, ten acres of field and sky
Contrasts the coiled tightness that dwells inside.

On this occasion a copse of silent sentinel trees
Is where you retreat into your private hell.
Emerging with disjointed stories to tell,
No-one you know is going to hear them anymore.
They already see your coffin draped in peonies.