(Last night, I had a dream where I saw myself walking down a foggy street in Victorian-era London. I eventually reached the run-down boarding house where I lived and I stepped inside and it was only as I stepped inside that I realized that in my dream, I was Mary Kelly, the final victim of Jack the Ripper, and that, by stepping into that house, I was essentially walking to my death. Anyway, needless to say, that was enough to wake me up.
As for the historical Mary Kelly, she was a 25 year-old, redheaded, Irish Catholic, just like me. She died on November 9th, 1888. 97 years later, I was born on November 9th, 1985. Mary haunts me because she was so brutally murdered yet her murderer — to the best of our knowledge — was never captured and never punished. Like far too many women who have failed to live up to the standards of her society, she wasn’t given justice and she’ll never receive it. Instead, the man (or woman) who victimized her is a household name yet Mary Kelly remains forgotten.
Anyway, spending time thinking about this dream led to me jotting down the words below.)
Mary Kelly
A disengaged mind
Walking dark streets
Preying on us all
Listening for sounds
Of softly muffled cries
Hanging in the air
The dying of the light
You opened Pandora’s Box
You pulled out all I had
I lay on top of my bed
Lost in my sanctuary
The world entered my room
And stared inside of me