I was only five when I first heard the ghost <br />getting water from our backyard well. <br />The steady rhythm of a muted squeak; <br />drawing up that old bent metal pail. <br /> <br />The haunting sound went on for years; <br />it awakened me most every night. <br />I would listen, afraid to close my eyes, <br />until came the morning light. <br /> <br />When I grew up and moved away, <br />I left that old well ghost behind. <br />I started my new life with the plan <br />of a good night’s sleep on my mind. <br /> <br />Mama had many lovely things; <br />she gave some of them to me. <br />The best thing was her old iron bed, <br />which was passed down in our family. <br /> <br />My wedding night, I could not wait <br />to sleep peacefully in my treasured bed. <br />But, in the middle of lovemaking I heard <br />an old familiar sound instead. <br /> <br />My husband wondered why I laughed <br />so hard, until I finally said: <br />“That ghost, which tortured me for years, <br />was the squeaking of Mama’s iron bed.” <br /> <br /> <br />(©2006)<br /><br />Shirley Alexander<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-family-treasure/
