In The Attic
By Andrew Motion
Even though we know now
your clothes will never
be needed, we keep them,
upstairs in a locked trunk.
Sometimes I kneel there,
holding them, trying to relive
time you wore them, to remember
the actual shape of arm and wrist.
My hands push down between
hollow, invisible sleeves,
hesitate, then lift
patterns of memory:
a green holiday, a red christening,
all your unfinished lives
fading through dark summers,
entering my head as dust
Copyright © by the owner.
