what if this is the real world?

what if you are the ghost?

what if it is your own child

you see in the sudden picture 

on the other side of the scrim 

Holding 

worlds both together and apart

You do the math when 

you see her–how old she 

was, is, will be

If she makes it that far

Refrain in your head thudding 

like fists on plate glass

because you are the ghost

voice thin and impossible

just the other side of glass

as you watch her slowly 

slip away.