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Talking to Neruda's Ghost
by Sharon Auberle
So Pablo, how is it,
over there where you are?
I want you to know
we miss you here,
miss your glorious gusto,
your fragrance of ink,
sea and flowers.
We miss your odes
to plain things:
salt, artichokes,
dictionaries…
Do you remember your ode
to watermelon?
I dream of licking the rivers
of juice from your lips,
and your socks, Pablo,
I would have learned, gladly,
to darn them, though
I am a woman who hates to sew.
I think I could have loved you.
Yes, there was Matilde,
your sun and moon,
your beloved, without whom,
you said, you would die.
I can live with that.
But Pablo, please,
say we go on, say
that you and Matilde
are out there tonight,
hands filled with clay and words,
say
you are shaping
poems into stars
to fling across the sky.
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