Friday 6 February 2009

Tenner.

Her days were too long, nights

even longer, as she turned in his

empty space, felt the damp pillow

on her pale cheek.


She had put all the photographs

away, wrapped in newspaper,

in envelopes, deep in drawers,

she put them in a tin, hid them

in the attic.


She couldn’t have him smiling

down from shaded walls, sat

shrouded in an old grey cardigan,

in the quiet violence of her afternoon.