In Memoriam

 

I forget to grieve some days because the wind

gently ruffles the curtains, their very drape

expectant, as if you’re about to step in;

the air, the entire room moulded to the shape

 

of your hands as they held the fabric aside;

slatted sunlight through the windows is your hand

on the armrest - I look  hard, mesmerised

till the curtain falls back  and I understand.

 

Some days I forget, as some part imagines

an amorphous smudge on the metal handrail

as if it recalls, recreates your thumbprint

effortlessly in gripping but blurred detail.

 

Your slippers with your toe marks on the shoe rack

disarranged - as if soon you’ll be coming back.