Her Name(For Lyn) Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Her possessions
deserted her

left her
at her death

became petty
useless things

the memories of her...
...times gone by

photographs
of memories

that no one
remembers anymore

holidays
& Holy days

precious things
now idly masquerading as items

emptied from
wardrobes & drawers

washing up on
charity shop shelves

now just junk
or binned

a lifetime
in a refuse sack

no thought now
of who she was

the dustmen
whistling in the morning

a music fragile
as frost

breath left hanging
in the coldness of the air

an empty house
unable to recall

her footfall

the sound of her voice
reciting Walter de la Mare

to her overfeed orange
cat.

Her possessions
deserted her

forgetting even
her name.