Molly Frederick’s most recent poem to appear here was “Gentle Carpentry” (January 2019). 

Morning Visitor
By Molly Frederick

One autumn morning I see a wraith standing
on the blue stone terrace of a Tudor mansion.
Her thin lavender gown and ashen hair flutter
enticingly in the breeze.
Sheer sleeves drop back from pale, spindly arms
as she waves at me, trying to catch my attention.

Her twig-like fingers stroke the air, and she wears
mild sunbeams lightly on her wrists like bracelets.
Morning air travels through her gossamer body
as occasional wisps of silken down
fly off her like milkweed puffs at summer’s end—
white into light. 

Weaving back and forth, she seems held upright
by the very thing traveling through her.
I scarcely notice when her presence enters mine,
drifting in as a mist, or like hints of a lovely
perfume after someone pleasing passes by.
Where did she come from? Why did she choose
to stand just there, and nowhere else?
And why do I see her when others do not? 

Even now, she stays with me still as I stroll about
wondering what will happen next.