Apparition

Years later, I met my father’s ghost

one midnight in summer. He smoked

beside the house and walked inside

without shoes. In the hallway I stood

when he entered the front door

and went straight into his study

where no one’s been in ten years.

I was afraid he’d see me. I moved 

closer and he appeared as a young man

almost my age. I watched him

by the moon’s rays from the windowpane.

He unlocked a display chest, examined

a collection of watches, took one

and began to dismantle its mechanisms,

spread tiny metal pieces on his desk,

like he did during his better days.

I recalled my father always made

timely repairs. I sat in front of him,

as if to discuss my troubles

with a watchmaker, to tell him

my clock sometimes stops at certain

points in the day, that perhaps he should

take a look. Right then, he lifted his head

to address me, or so I thought. Perhaps

it was the other way around: am I the ghost

caught in the bend? I thought he didn’t see

me; he looked right through. My father stared

at the darkness of the abandoned room

waiting for something to emerge.

He raised his hands like a man drowning

in a river, eyes milky and blazing

with moonlight, till he vanished—Father,

did you find what you were searching for?

I remained where you had been, the moon

now a quarter rising above the haze of clouds.