a wee poem

amidst terror plots
and fears of toothpaste
we packed up the remnants of your life.
we stuffed penciled christmas lists,
Austrian bus schedules,
metro timetables
and all the debris
of a well travelled life
into 40 black plastic garbage bags.

We stacked them neatly for the janitor
in the hallway closet
alongside defunct TVs,
three-legged chairs
and outdated phonebooks
and closed to door
to hide the mess.
your neighbors stopped us in the halls to say
Aye such a shame
Margaret was such a lovely lady
as if your loveliness
could be forgotten too.

At Cormie House
the ladies roll their walkers across the carpets
and ask if we are inmates too.
Meg hails me into her room,
shows me a photo of the man
she planned to marry 30 years ago
before he was killed in the war.
She puts the photo down,
picks it up
tells me about the man she planned to marry
30 years ago.
She puts the photo down,
picks it up.

Aunt Margaret,
You don't notice me,
your attention occupied by buttons
too small to manage
but we take up
after two years
exactly where we left off
with my name.
Yes, that's right, you're Erika, you say.
Sorry, I should know that you apologize
profusely.

Not all is lost.