Stephanie Bottrill’s morning walk by Julian Dobson

I am not a silent poet

it was all so neat

the way she sorted her possessions

into boxes

little labels marking them

for bedroom or for kitchen

she would never use

it was all so neat

the way she packaged up her life

knowing she could not afford to stay

knowing she could not afford

the choice she had been offered

it was all so neat

the way she organised farewells

the notes, the way she wanted to make sure

she would not cause too much trouble

and her cause was too much trouble

uprooted from the garden she had cared for

uprooted from the home she’d made

told that everything would have to end

and everything would have to end

and so she tidied, packaged, organised

uprooted books of memories

uprooted photographs

with a gardener’s tenderness

uprooted every year

drawing a neat line under it all

she’d told her family she was worried

told…

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