Dust

When you were gone
we rearranged the space.
No more trophies, we said
fitting ornaments into
the undust mantel circles.
A boy in an apple tree
a girl with a pig on her back.
Somewhere else silver
Most Improved
Player of the Year
Club Man tarnish slowly
in a light we don't recognise.
When you're home
for the holidays
I catch you writing
in the dressing table dust.
"I was here."
You were.