The Ghost Poem by James Sutherland-Smith

She dreams she has been robbed; her orchid,
her clutter of cosmetics, tapestries,
a statue of Ganesha - not even
a stocking trails from and open drawer,

In her sleep she cries for her glass bangles.

'There is hope' she thinks noticing the outline
of the wardrobe and dressing table,
an asymmetry of ceiling and windows
and light mottled by the shadow of railings
outside. But she has no shadow herself
and on the mattress (no bedclothes) she sees
an exquisite arrangement of bones.

In her sleep she cries for her glass bangles.

The bones crumble while she watches
leaving a trace, a calcium smear
and from the ceiling flake plaster, sawdust,
splinters of brick until there is no room
just an open concrete space which might be
an arena or a road if there were
voices or engine noise to define it.

In her sleep she cries for her glass bangles.

'There is hope' she thinks before her gaze
and awareness are left in pure space
knowing only the exact alteration
of absolute light and complete darkness.

In her sleep she cries for her glass bangles.