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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

by Laura Hargreaves

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