Missed
Moving boxes: finding cards. 20, no, 30 birthdays gone. Elastic bands stiff and failing. Some from family, the constant bones of a life – others just names, colleagues, playmates who blew through like gusts.
I add up the ones you sent:
Love, from D.
With love, from D.
Love, D.
D x.
Wish you were here, D.
Can’t wait to see you. D.
And the book (spine unbroken): Read this and think of me, D.
Oh D!
I remember you – a face in the group, a name in the list, a pint in the round.
A hand brushing mine. Accidentally.
