I am the wraith. br For a moment I belong br to the woman behind me, br tall, slim, erect, br her face lined, hair gray. br She says, after I turn br to look at her and we both br smile at the cashier's flurry br of beset moves as the line br grows, 'You remind me of my br father, the way you carry br yourself.' br br I carry the weightless br burden. She does all the work, br fusing her father's manner br to mine, or mine to his. br I can't help it. I grin. br br She sees me as I have seen br my father seated at a bright br window ten years after he died, br embodied by an aging stranger, br there in feature and manner. br I did not speak but know br the impulse, satisfied then br with silence and now br with this shared moment br of stillness br amid the cashier's br frantic ringing up.