A love story.
Throw them out - get rid of them.
But every day it is impossible,
the textile reminders
of a life force so powerful
he still fills the house
as well as the wardrobes.
Sliding through her fingers,
silk and viscose, every colour
every texture, every moment,
ties of memories,
braille messages from the past.
Get rid of them? The idea is untenable.
Then one morning, while the birds sing
and the sun blazes through the
picture window where she still
'sees' him waiting for her to come in
from the garden,
The fomites have finally passed on
the germ of remembrance,
imprinted memories safely stored
in her DNA and she cannot lose them
A decade on
and the wardrobe
has space now,
his clothes are out
for someone else.
by Michele Brenton 24th April 2012