By Jackie Kay

You might forget the exact sound of her voiceOr how her face looked when sleeping.You might forget the sound of her quiet weepingCurled into the shape of a half moon, When smaller than her self, she seemed already to be leavingBefore she left, when the blossom was on the treesAnd the sun was out, and all seemed good in the world.I held her hand and sang a song from when I was a girl –
Heil Ya Ho Boys, Let her go BoysAnd when I stopped singing she had slipped away,Already a slip of a girl again, skipping off,Her heart light, her face almost smiling.
And what I didn’t know or couldn’t see thenWas that she hadn’t really gone.The dead don’t go till you do, loved ones.The dead are still here holding our hands.

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