Ghost

I feel like a ghost, walking amongst them
I wonder if they can tell by my eyes,
glassy, like a fish before you plunge a knife through its belly
Served up on a plate
Can they tell? My quiet dignity,
careful not to trip over my shroud

I am the dead amongst them
still feeling the cool, marble spheres in my throat, as white as my skin
White to renew my purity: 'And fit us for heaven to live with thee there'
Too many painkillers for the wrong sort of pain

I feel their judgement, they might know
I feel the frailty of my bones
I make myself translucent, to let their eyes in.
See myself in the murky windows, struggling to find myself
in the cracked mirror of self perception.

I am Cathy, Havisham, Jane, Anne, Elizabeth, Mary,
a Pandora's box of names -
everything but Hope.

The wish is still there. Swap the black water for the darkness
of the
grave.