In an attic
an old cardboard box
theatrically tied with
coloured ribbon
a bit battered now
I shake it to see
what’s inside it.
It is silent until I open it
and out spills
a sweet kiss
the softest of caresses
a withered tear
your typical broken heart
and other memories becoming ghost.
A dust mote dances in the sunlight.
How foolish to keep it
after all these years
Unable to throw it away then...and now.
I climb down stairs
a little shaky
make a big cup of tea
and have a little cry.
My husband holds me
in his arms
kisses me gently...says:
'He must have been some guy! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem