Letter

Letter -
by Josie McCall

‘My little black number’, you called it, laughing.
We bought that dress together,
One whirlwind afternoon in London,
Breaking the limit on the credit cards.
I stroke the deep, shiny velvet,
And picture you shrugging it on,
And smoothing it down with your hands,
Turning on tiptoe before the bedroom mirror.
I place it in the cardboard box.
It lies next to the torn, baggy t-shirt
You liked to wear for painting.


At this rate it will take another year
To sort and clear
All the personal things,
The reminders.
Your perfume still lingers,
Where your silks and laces,
Slip through my fingers.
I hold your softest clothes to my face,
Breathing in your aura,
Feeling deep physical pain,
Before packing them away.


I found your letter the other day.
I hadn’t known it was there,
Hidden under your bras.
You tucking your keys there,
When you didn’t have a pocket
Brought a brief smile.
I read it quickly the first time,
Your words of love and encouragement,
Familiar and comforting.
I read them when I’m hurting.