The 30th of Julia

The 30th of Julia

The 30th of Julia
is not a sad dissected piece
of forensic detritus
bagged, tagged, and labelled
a toe perhaps or an ear
a plane crash remnant
or evidence of a bad bad man

It's not the memories of loss
or disappointment at work
Its not the boy who didn't love her
when she was 12

Its the curve of her jaw and perfect cheek
her lovers gaze
drawn to it
as if she were an incandescent painting
by a master
all alabaster and rose Alma-Tadema
her forearm stroked beside the Cappuccino
in a busy bar
a tender classical curve

or it's his hand as he touched
her warm back
as they left