Monday, 25 May 2015


Still life 1907 by John Frederick  Peto

Lazily left where she hung them
for this moment  home to spiders,
tattered silk is food for worms,
shredding skin in dust piles
The itch of her carpet bag
grazing my memory
sadly mournful,
inside the detritus of a last shopping trip
a broken earring and copper change
imprint fingertips now lost.
I pull  on her hat sharply
straw nibbles my ears
pass your scent to me
so I can remember your soft wrinkled hands
holding mine
and a dry lip on my cheek.

KD 25/5/15

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