The Ghost with a Bell

Written by Wenhui (Cathy) Qing from SDSZ International Department in Beijing, China

I came to a house that is wide and still,

where a woman resides, calm and chill. 

She feeds me soft, brushes my coat

that smells of sun and rain’s light note.

But her posture is stiff, hands slow to reach.

At the bell that clinks, she holds to breathe. 

Her eyes hold a ghost, a small white light,

that haunts her through the silent night.

I sniff the truth, but don’t make a sound,

I fill a space where an old joy once bound,

a spot she left, empty and raw,

for a tiny new life, she chose to draw. 

A small white dog, a bell faint in vain

of the stray she had, pulled from rain.

And now I stay where it once lay,

same bed, same lap, but a different name. 

With gentle hands, she pets my ear,

I see her pause, looking past my fur.

I’ll never be that little white soul,

the one her heart holds, full and whole.

This house is warm as sunshine laughs bright.

I am fed and held, each day and each night.

But this mother stares at an empty space

where a small white ghost still wears her grace.