by Stephanie Yorke

3.

That morning, you’d emptied your closet shelf—
threw down the rattling hairdryer, and the book
series she’d subscribed you to by mail.
Her ash flaked off, but the books kept coming,
big hugs on the invoice.

Your bureau covered with Happy Meal toys—
all of our best memories are in restaurants.
The watermelon that’s also a wind-up car;
the two-thirds downscaled Rubik’s Cube.

Forget that stupid jewellery box she left,
motorized ballerina. Gears claw through
“Over the Rainbow,” ready to seize.

Forget that bracelet she left in the box—
set in silver polish, the whole thing dissolved.
Not to tarnish her reputation.

Stephanie Yorke is a Canadian poet, temporarily resident overseas. Her email is stephanie.yorke@wolfson.ox.ac.uk.