flicker, flicker

The light flickers in my bedroom

as I brush my hair;

I remember that theory that it’s someone dead trying to speak to you,

I’m sure it’s just a thing from movies.

The light flickers again in the bathroom 

as I put on my makeup;

I’m reminded of that scene that I’m pretty sure is from The Shining

Or some other horror movie that I’ll never care to watch.

But when it flickers in my living room, it’s as if you’re there

Again; watching us play make believe wanting to be teenagers

And you’re sitting in your chair—the one that we threw away in the flood—and watching us grow old,

Knitting the things I’ve held onto ever since you left with the tide.