Amador Ghost Country

By Deb E. Bergman

When I am a ghost

I will walk barefoot

down China Graveyard Road

old and winding

where there once were enough Chinese

in the Mother Lode

to have graves.

You won’t see me

taking in golden still lifes

hanging frameless…

Rolling Cow Hills

Tall Grasses Moving

Old Barns With Evening Owls

Twilight Sunset Beams

Breaking Through Waterless Clouds

I will feel the breath

no longer within me

exhale like a tired old miner.

Did you see that stirring gust

rush past you,

coaxing fallen leaves to swirl

across the old graveyard road,

making that tired horse over there quiver

Just now?

A lonely driver needs not swerve

to miss me

but maybe he will miss me

as I reach the corner

where the weeping willow

wept and waited for me

and my dusty bare feet

to trek over this golden ghost country

Where no one will ever know

where we all went

and why

the graves are empty.

But the ghosts are plenty

And most happy

Like me.