Disha II

Let’s rummage through the detritus:

glinting copper and yellow string,
a smeared stack of handwritten letters,
written with agonising love and soothing shared sadness.
The impression of rainy mornings and soft brown fingers
caressing the paper like my burning paper face.

My knees are starting to lock up.
I can’t look away
from the smouldering embers
catching fire in the cloth:
it burns sweetly smoky.

I press blister-blooming hands deeper.

Digital files stored away
burrowed deep within binary
images in high resolution
In Red Blue Green

Crawl through old memories that are not my own:
caught on camera, voice bell-clear
laughter billowing, tucked between dimples
moving and gesturing like any human being
just one ordinary human being thousands of miles away.

You have your own wreckage to sift through

You file it all away, neat as can be
gently, gently you erase me from existence
with the slow rub of dishwater over stains
all artefacts hidden deep in plain brown boxes

In amongst all the ink-stained notes
and silly trinkets and digital files
how long will it take you to forget about
The little round silver
slice of clockwork
carelessly handled
its broken form held close in guilty hands.