Pauline B. Barrington

WHEN she was alive

She moved like a frail ghost,

The spirit of a wraith.

Her chiffons trailed about her

Like spirals of smoke.

The wail in her voice was gray and pining

Like the sea after twilight.

She died and was buried.

Now, she has returned—a woman

Among us.

She passed down the street

Wrapped in a Spanish shawl,

Flaming with hybiscus

And amber roses:

The silk fringe caught in a small, green bush;

She stooped and swayed,

With long pointed fingers disengaged

The silk fringe of the shawl.

I closed my eyes,

So poignant was the grace

Of her swaying and stooping.

When I opened them again,

She had gone.

Up and down the street

I looked—

She had disappeared!

But the small green bush,

Where her long, pointed fingers

Disengaged the silk fringe

Of the shawl,

Was covered with vermilion flowers

Like her mouth—

A flare of color

In the sun.