Wraith Wife by Rose Vane
Whenever I look at him
I find the wisp of her – especially hair in locks of white steam
Vining around his body
Jellyfish hair, really, I’d say
He used to love her long hair – it’s probably still there – still part
of her in her grave
As she lies cold
I sometimes find the sheath of her ghostly sex around him
Clenching spectrally
Does it feel cold to you?
That’s what I’d like to ask him
But I don’t I really don’t
Because in a way it’s better
Not to ask
I like to feed on his silence, thinking his silence means to protect me like a cloak
Shield me from the wraith of her
When it visits him
Still how I hate how I hate her
Transparent Medusa creature glimmering her tentacles
And not letting go
Whenever I look at him, I think of him watching her - transfixed by her translucence
And then I really ask myself
Me
Maybe it’s me
Maybe I’m his dead wife – lying cold in her grave already
Insubstantial heart already
Wraith wife still clinging to him.
