Not the death but the certificate.
Not the marriage but the ring.
Not the children but the photograph.
Not summer but the shell.
Not the body but the lock of hair.
Not the meal but the menu.
Not birdsong but the feather.
Not home but the lost key.
Not the journey but the boarding pass.
Not the tree but the dried leaf.
Not the good suit but the button.
Not years but diaries.
Not the lover but the love letter.
Not the sea but salt.
Not the poem but words and ink.
I have lived. Here is the proof.
Vona Groarke, July 2013