Marks of what has been

All got a new order from the day you left.
You even took your ragged up coat and
I rearranged the furniture.
Where your chair had stood for years
was a light mark on the wooden floor
that I tried to cover with a too small rug.
It came all the way from Mekka,
and had a nice shade of green.

I removed your photo’s one by one,
those that were too dear to look at,
out of the album where white spots remained,
the paper’s original colour.
I took off your ring, the bracelet you gave me,
the necklace with the medallion too,
and my skin was whiter
where the silver had been.

I thought removing your traces
would make me forget and
make me feel less sad,
but every white spot is you.
Your absence is leaving marks
reminding me of days of innocence,
where around them time has moved on,
unheard, unknown, unseen.

Comments on: "Marks of what has been" (8)

  1. Oh Ina this is just a fabulous poem! I love it.

    Sad though, but beautifully written and gets that spot in the middle of my stomach. πŸ™‚

    L&H xx

  2. Your poems always light a fire in my soul.

  3. Wonderfully stoic and eerily told and familiar, wretching territory. Very classy. πŸ™‚

  4. When love ends, what then? The blankness of pictures removed from an album. A great idea! Excellent work, again.

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