Near/Far

We were close, them and us,
before distance and time
turned them into memories.

Now their ghosts whisper
through social media,
fragments of their DNA
curated in dusty SIMs,
whilst their stubborn fingerprints
are relics on yellowed pages;
they smile out from yearbooks
and 35mm negatives,
their dried blood fades in the ink
of bygone birthday cards.

The ouija board moves,
we don't answer back
for fear of disturbing the dead.

They feel the same.