Your hands are the last thing I remember,
And so become the first
Memory disembodies and separates,
Until I only see your long fingers.
I would like to hold onto your voice
But how do you remember a sound?
At the kitchen table after eggs, cheese, crackers,
So much fat!
You’d twist your wedding ring
Round and round
50 years of love nearly worn right through
I cannot recall if they
Took it to the shop
Details blur, hands remain but are gone and if gone,
not if, just gone, where did home go?
Did they bury your ring with you
Or was it plundered too?
Some days I check my hands
In the hope they change,
But my fingers stay too short,
I am too small to be you.
by Ali Millar