No.31

That girl hangs under the water.
Waxy pallor simultaneously shiny and matte.
If you sit on the bank and look across the water
you won't see her.
But stand and cast your eyes over the scene
And there she'll be.
Just hanging under the water.
A pre-raphaelite figure,
minus the romance.

Mostly, in death, there is little romance.
It's not like the stories of star cross'd lovers.
It is loss, grief, abandonment and anger.

Who is angry with that girl?
There's someone, somewhere,
for whom her peaceful countenance
leaves them livid with rage.

But still, she hovers,
as still as only a corpse can be,
not even rippling the surface.