Shoebox Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Curiously
no shoes

only a dance card
from 1932

totally filled in
by only 2 beaux

who Tango'd &
Pas a Doble'd her

alternately
all night

waiting for her
to choose

one or the other
(both brothers) .

She choose the fair-haired one
(for his sense of fun)

the red-haired one
(always so moody)

never forgave her or
his brother

became a missionary
in Trinidad & Tobago
.

A lock of baby's hair
(still so perfect)

bound tightly in pink ribbon

lost after only a week
of which they would never speak

as the dried up tears
like shrivelled mummified spiders

resting now
among a trove of birthday cards

that declare the passing time
gaudier year by year.

Old love letters
written in intense violet

on almost see-through
onion thin yellow paper.

The shoes she remembers
were a violent red

chosen for the same shade
red as her lipstick.

A neat ticket
for a Venetian vaporetto

unused from
1962

with a telephone number
scribbled in scrawl

hurriedly across it.

A beautiful button
(a work of art in itself)

from a favourite cloak
left behind in a favourite pub

as England win
the World Cup

made her look
like Little Red Riding Hood

or as her hubby put it:
'A fairy tale...sex on legs! '

A ginger tom
(with one eye missing)
sleeps on top

of all
this

as if it were his
own private berth

in this ship of foolish
things

her box of things
unaware

that Virginia
is dead.