When the lid is closed and I am gone
to ground or heaven
and you, sorting out my things, open up a box to find
the cards of friends or kids, lovers or sisters
know that I kept them not for me but for you
to see that for a moment I was held by a heart that beat
miraculously, entirely just for me!
That stash is big, it has a rhythm;
the pulse of a life without corporeal form,
except an origami girl or 2D page,
but I threw away all with mundane wishes
on leaving a job, or moving on,
cutting, marking another notch in time or occasion.
No.
The words that stay are ones that formed a scaffold around my crumbling heart
A refuge and bulwark in dry and lonely times.
So.
Keep the next tranche that now comes
To mark the passing of a complex soul
Who tried her best to be kind and to be whole.
20/03/2021
Catherine Forsayeth 