a blue spotted ball bought for a birthday.
A pair of old glasses
each whorled lens
encrusted with dust and DNA.
Souvenir gifts from an ex- lover’s travels
bright sarongs, bottles of scent
a keffiyeh from Gaza.
A recording of voices
made on a Boston subway train
-seriously.
A beach washed bone
from the East Neuk o’ Fife
which from a certain angle
resembles a standing dog.
A ten-year old’s poem
handwritten in Quink.
Photos of dead cats
(not dead at the time of course)
An overdue copy
of Strauss’s Four Last Songs
stamped to be returned
September 1982
My wedding dress
three sizes too small
last time I checked.
A pair of wooden ducks
meant as a gift but never given,
too late now.
The list continues.
They gather like dust
encroaching without menace
reminders of a half-finished life.

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