WordsOut poems by Godfrey Rust  | collection BREAKING THE CHAINS ← 52 of 61 → | home     

Phantom

The limb removed, the amputee
swears there's an itching
where hand or foot was,
a ghostly memory
of something once attached.

There are phantom people too. 
It's unimportant, almost
nothing, just some trick
on eye and mind
of a slight, familiar imprint—

a motorway sign, a certain
tilt of a woman's head.