I Once Owned it, but Now, I am Content to Sit in It

 Ancestors make the most annoying houseguests. 
 You try to forget all that, 
 but they still fondle you.
 Their gaze creeps out of every pant-leg—
 peeks out of shower curtains, and somehow,
 they inch their voices into the seams of your socks.
  
 I’ve spent all these years
 making myself presentable,
 and then.  The summer begins to form
 like some hand of wriggling fingers
 I must have dreamt about 
 a hundred times before.  
 People don’t get things
 when they want them—
 because that’s how I keep picturing the clock
 before I put myself down.