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April 15, 2024

Teddy Bear

By Carl Wade Thompson

A Ghost's Story: The Teddy Bear

The days move like sand,
falling fast from an open hand.
I linger here and there,
keep to dark places in the air.
Simply watch and wait,
an onlooker of life.
My sons ask for me less and less,
Daddy is dead, no coming back.
But at night they know I'm here,
staring at shadows that draw near.
A ghost who can't stay away,
I can't help but watch my boys play.
My youngest has my old teddy bear,
one eye gone, a hole in its side.
He holds it so ever near,
a timeless hug that never ends.
Sometimes I play with him,
through the bear, I hug him back.
Gentle embrace of woolen cloth,
I stroke his hair with fingerless paws.
As the night parade crosses the moon,
Holding my son, asleep in his crib.
Each dawn, I let him go,
try to remember his given name.
But no words pass my lips,
a forgetful spirit, I float away.
But always watch his bear,
the only piece of Daddy left.

Article © Carl Wade Thompson. All rights reserved.
Published on 2016-11-14
Image(s) are public domain.
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