The Tall Man and the Child
One line of loved ones,
Born of and through each other,
Sharing name, ancestor and blood,
Met beyond the veil in a chilling sight.
They each told the story, years apart,
Of a house under tall trees, in the wind’s way,
One brother spoke while at the wheel,
Driving on a dark road, passing red lights:
“It was in those quiet halls,
Where a chill replaced our bones,
You could lay your head in one locked room,
And wake up altogether in another,
What sense could our fragile brains make
Of the ghostly hands moving our beds?
And one night when I heard a rave at the gate,
I peeped through the dusty curtains
To see a woman leashed to her devil dogs,
Staring at the front door.”
And I remembered not so long ago,
A sight that forced each hair to stand;
An intent that could only be said
To whisper from the neverrealm.
The older brother said of the same home:
“Oh, I do recall the hauntings he spoke of,
Only it was a very tall man holding a child,
That stood silently beyond the door.
One night, dad returned from the day’s work,
And we were nodding off as children do,
He woke us up to share a meal in a fatherly touch,
We sat at the table, eating with heavy eyelids,
When a glass of water rose to the air,
And violently poured out onto the midnight supper.
He grabbed each of us in a fearsome quickness,
And bolted off to hide us in his bedroom.
Another night, I woke up to find dad seated in the dark,
As if lost in a world where thoughts get lost,
I asked him what he was doing there on the couch,
‘The tall man and the child carried me here,’