The Window Box

Returning to that rented house
once we’d split our stuff
casting an eye over
the now barron landscape of our love
I brush away the mess we left
touch up the paint in the hallway

One thing we forgot to pack
one thing you forgot to take
that flower box outside the bedroom window
I bought for you while working away
you planted seeds and raised them up
gave them names with handwritten labels

Now, the pen has faded but 
your writing remains so delicate
The soil is white, stems all withered
there’s no life left
Tossing the box into a bin bag
finally, it hits me, hard and winding

Just what is ending here
all those little moments we tended
all those precious things we shared
are done and dusted

Chucked into the big black bag of memory
that only I will really will carry with me
my fat tears water those dead stems
knowing nothing will bloom like that again...



◄ Chlorine

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Sat 8th May 2021 23:44

Thank you for the likes Greg, Philipos, Tony, Stephen, J.D, Aviva, Holden, Nazia and Stephanie! Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read.

And thanks Philipos, it's absolutely a reminiscence. I have a vague memory of trying to write this poem about ten years ago when the feelings were still raw but I couldn't get it to work.

I came back to the idea again when I was mulling whether it's a universal thing that everyone has a moment in grief/loss when the enormity of what is happening finally hits them fully. In the 5 stages of grief there is acceptance but I'm not sure that is what this poem is about it - more like somewhere between denial and anger...


Fri 7th May 2021 18:49

Great reminiscence, well done.



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