MEMORY HEARS MY INFANT SON
Bedclothes rustle, memory hears
my infant son shouting in the night
“my sheeps are falling off,” not angry
or afraid, just clear and insistent
as the night watch.
His ghost stands by the bed, black
eyes huge in dim moonlight. Across
the roof, squirrels scrabble and chase.
It is information he provides,
something he is sure I need to know.
Steve Klepetar teaches literature and writing at Saint Cloud State University in Minnesota. His work has appeared in a number of journals, including Astropoetica, Poems Niederngasse, Lily, Snakeskin, and others.