This morning taking my trash to the curb I thought how utterly useless the dead are. We have thousands of years of ghost stories but none about the dead as helpmates. I want the dead to clean my house. I’m well over sixty and I’ve given up on making new friendships. But I could use some spirits without expressions to handle my basic chores.
What would I pay them? I’d give them a miniature self portrait where I’m half human, half mole.
If they washed my windows (a fitting job for them) I’d give them the straws I use to measure snow in winter.
Its late spring, almost summer and the birds are flying today with a renewed willingness, as if they’ve solved the trick of living power animated by their ancestors.
But living men and women are trapped, doing their own chores…
Planet of the Blind 