Dear Whomsoever ...

When you read this note,
you’ll have found my box, plus
its odds and sods, beneath
the floorboards ... Moving on,
as one does.

You’re more than welcome
to a mirror I spent hours
in front of; getting all dolled up
for dates that didn’t show –
jobs I never got.

And my Janet Reger –
a raven-black, lace corset
hung with red, silk ribbons.
Uncomfortable as sin and not
worth the while...

A book of rubbish poems –
only ever sold one copy...
use it to light the fire;
inglenooks, take it from me,
can be quite temperamental...

A pair of white, satin shoes –
puke stained. The ones
I wore to say, “I do...want
to watch my world diminish;
minute by minute, hour on hour.”

And if you find this, fifty –
or a hundred years from now,
open it with care, as one would
a heart in for service and repair....
Just a wooden box, full of bits
of who I thought I was.