Prose Poem lll
wore a rhapsodic expression, her body swayed to inaudible music. Then I gasped. Anyone could see the girl in the picture was surrounded by a wreathe-like aura of white light that shaped itself into what seemed very clerly to be arms and legs and the back of a head. Dutifully I read the article., leaning against the wall.
Alas, just as I thought, the girl in the photo was Eileen, at her niece's wedding in Missouri snapped by a family member, a number of years ago. The article explained how the girl in the photo danced with her father each year on his birthday. That gentleman had died of a stroke some months before the wedding at the age of ninety after a lifetime of perfect health. The wedding had been scheduled on his birthday for reasons of sentiment. The light in the photo was the ghost of her father, the article insisted, visiting from the land of Tir Na Nogh, and interrupting his rest to dance with his daughter on this special day.
poem by Robert Dickerson
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