The Dark Ghost

You see old photos of women past
and there is longing in their eyes,
a downward turn of mouth and face
that looks hauntingly familiar.

Stories of institutionalization and
years spent dreaming of self-fashioned
bars loosed through the power of screaming.
You wonder what genetic gifts will be yours.

Sometimes it feels like a heavy snake,
a wreath of smoke, or a crushing hand.
Sometimes like a shadow stole thrown
over your shoulders, pressing into your frame.

And then the idea that maybe fighting
is not necessary. Maybe "solving" is not
the answer. Instead... perhaps it is
meant to sit within; a natural piece of self.

Whatever it may be... to stand in the stream,
to cross the stream, to leave the stream entirely
in order to ensure you will not drown.
You know the water is there.

One stares through you, distant woman with eyes of anger.
One does not know you, rocking and quiet in prayerful silence.
One stays with you, following close attached to your heart.
One remains, seeking the path of her own redemption.

The dark ghost can see you,
can sing and scream in lonely nights
and laugh behind your skin in mirrors.
And maybe, just maybe, to embrace it
would be better than to run.