The Ghost Who Walks

My arms and legs are like bamboo,

like the poles my father and I fished with
when he let me stand on the ledge of a rock
and catch my first and only fish.

In the mirror my head looks like a nest
of daddy-longlegs, or a half-blown
dandelion. My hands are transparent,
the flesh is coral, the bones are blue.

Who knew old age would transform one
from plain nonentity to an undeniably
visible phenomenon? I've never looked
so interesting before in my life.


By JRC 6/7/14