Poem Hunter
(29 September 1970 / South Africa)


It was only after she died I came to know her...
going through her things,
finding the little box with trinkets,
keepsakes from a different era,
a movie ticket
a war medal
and the brass heart locket on a string,
already green with age...
inside a cut-out of Elvis

I smiled... we were not so different after all,
this woman from the past, and I
our tchotschkes are worlds apart, but
the sentiment the very same.

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Comments (2)

The summary of a life.A few trinkets.This piece conjured up memories I'd struggled to bury.Good poem.Bad trip!
Yes, it's after they die we know them, perhaps better. Your lovely poem reminds me of what Denis Boorstin, the late Librarian of Congress, exhibited to the public, for the first time -the contents of Abraham'Lincoln's pockets the night he was assasinated, including a pocket knife. Yes, we learn so much after they die! a lovely poem