Sonnets From Other Lives: Serena

She spent most of the morning in the Tree
of Ghosts commiserating with the dead
souls who somehow never could break free
of this world’s bonds & move on to the next.
Like wisps of cottonwood or dandelion
they’d flit—confused—among the summer leaves
as if looking for something. In her mind
she thought she heard them sometimes—whispering.
She’ll tell them stories. It relaxes them.
They’ll settle in the branches quietly
to listen to her. She calls them her friends—
the dead who still refuse eternal sleep.
In a moment she’ll thank her spectral hosts
& climb down slowly from the Tree of Ghosts.