I still have your address book
And sometimes sit there with it
Across my knee
And can feel the scribbles out
Of those who died
Or who simply you lost contact with.
Did you cross off Ann from Clevelands
Who you met on holiday in Southport
Back when you were a child
Or Barbara who was the daughter
Of your old teacher from school.
Michelle from across the road
From your old house before you moved
Or your cousin Flo from Cornwall
Who my mother used to go on about
All the time after I drenched her
With a water pistol
Mis-taking her for my sister.
Jude, your best friend from Woolworths
Who wouldn’t speak to you
For two weeks after her husband
Came onto you and she thought it was you
Or Mags who went off to Australia
And promised she would write every week.
Rose who you went to I.T. Classes
Back when you were 65
And kicked out the wire after 10 minutes
Or Jack your first boyfriend
Who you almost married twice
Only for it all to pieces at the last minute,
Memories I can still remember you
Shaking your head at sometimes
As you sat there with a pen
Looking every inch the writer
Instead of a random crossword scribbler
As your pen crosses out people
Like threads pulled out of a jumper,
Threads which you smile at
With a quiet satisfication
As you whisper goodbye again.
(Day 13 asked us to go out for a walk and see what came. This came from a conversation I held between two women when one of them mentioned her mother's old address book)