Yes, I talk to the dead…
Well, they talk to me!
Since I was a child;
As far as I can recall.
I talked to a 6-year-old;
She said she drowned.
I was 9-years-old…
I made her mother cry.
She said, I gave her hope.
I didn’t know how.
And even before,
When Uncle Pete went to heaven.
I saw him standing near,
Looking fine.
I wondered why, at age 7;
People kiss a big wood box.
Uncle Pete was supposed to be inside.
When I was older,
Seeing them…
Hearing them…
Scared me.
I don’t know why.
I talked to them before.
As an adult,
I was urged to go professional.
Help others connect…
I still make people cry,
Just to hear from a parent…
Or a child.
Now I understand.
I talk to dead people…
They aren’t really dead.
I know.
I hear.
I see
.
first read: this seems like you live in that person, so it s easy to think the writer and chaacter are the same
How i ntersting that she was afraid as a adult and not as a child. feels right.
Yes, people who have these different experience hide them
lonely, especially if you lose the voices
I have something like that on a very small scale