Tuesday 24 November 2015

The Scarf

We do not grieve
Like those who have
No hope

But we mourn
All the same
And weep like Jesus

For death is loss
To those who remain

Our letting go
No casual achievement 

We labour and ache
For contact
A physical connection

I pick up the scarf
I bought for her
In Paris

Feel the smoothness 
Of her skin 

The soft scent
Of her perfume

And carry it with me
A year or two
Until the fragrance 

Fades away
No longer

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