Let The Shirt Be

Slips of paper folded twice, four times
address of an unknown person
you are not there that I can ask
I have this urge to visit this person
 whose address you had written so painstakingly:
there might be something of you left with him.
I have been advised to put all these away:
the tissue paper with a dab of eucalyptus oil
a strip of paracetamol, the bills paid to pharmacist.
Clear these from the pocket, fold away the shirt.

But there are your dead cells still at the collar
your fingers where you folded the sleeves –
I will let the shirt be.

We Write Poems


7 thoughts on “Let The Shirt Be

  1. Beautifully intimate and expressive. Soft movements, soft feelings, folded upon themselves. I feel this poem inside myself. And I understand more now your comment of mine, as we each tangentially came to the same ending – rather literally. It contains the tenderness of small gestures.

    I like this poem very much.

  2. Hi Uma — what a soft and sad poem. The dead cells on the shirt collar was blunt, but perfect for what it was — just that. A piece left behind to touch or avoid. Touching.

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