I can talk to the dead*
Like my non-verbal son, they tell no lies
do not spread rumours
or backbite behind one’s back
untruthful things about one
carry no daggers to stab you with from behind
they rejoice or mourn only about themselves
jealosuy, mistrust and suspicion have left them, I like to think
tell you no lies about yourself to your face
are quite quiet
except for the sound of their bubbling souls
that make them like witches’ potions
or like good, strong, green tea.
Title from a poem by K Satchindanandan.