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Mam
Yes, I will remember
that you always had plants
in the hall, sat on odd plates.
A mat for our feet,
cleaner than the floor.
The kitchen worktops,
full with bread and rolls.
Irish butter and a fruit bowl
full to the rim, with stolen
condiments. Ketchups
you would sneak in a hanky
‘Save them for later’.
I will remember
when I wash my hands
how your bathroom
smelt of imperial leather.
A creamy, clean scent
upstairs, where memorabilia
and pictures, cluttered.
But the bed-sheets, hotel
clean. A throw you saved
for best, only good for guests.
I will remember
how your house
was living a life, pictures
and ornaments, letters
and plants. Unraveled on the edges,
it told a story, it told me of
you.
by
Laura Hargreaves
Read the story behind this poem
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