The cheap red bag had mould on it
Though it might have been dust
I unzipped the top and the scent of her
Burst into the room
A lightweight nothing of a bag
Possibly a free gift
From a catalogue
The one she always had packed
And took to hospital
Time and again
Half a lifetime ago
Three years on
I make a start
Well, half a start
A reluctant start
On sorting through
The bright red bag has mould on it
Not that I’m that fussed
A zip on the top and one at the side
Containing her things
Hiding the last remnants of a life -
Some old slippers
Rotting slowly away;
A paperback book less than half read -
The bookmark marking
A vital moment;
Some cheap perfume
Three years on
That pile of boxes
Still sitting there
I ought to make a start
On sorting through
Because the red bag has mould on it
It has to be thrown away
Though I must explore it beforehand -
Notelets for unwritten thoughts;
Dried-up pens; Bits of old debris
A wash-bag with creams,
Toothpaste and a brush;
Her frozen wristwatch hidden away
Two pairs of spectacles
Still in the cases
That she used to see me with
Three years on
That pile of boxes
I knelt on one
The crack of breaking glass
Whilst not sorting through
The old red bag inside a black bag
Waiting by the bins
Along with the perished slippers
The rolled up tights
Throwing away her memory
With the red bag
From a catalogue
The one she always had packed
And took to hospital
Time and again
Half a lifetime ago
Martin
A W Holmes, September 2016
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