by Lynn White
We sat on the dirty stairs
holding hands and looking sad.
His name was Ralf
and tomorrow at
“la bonne heure”
going home to Geneva.
He gave me a brooch made of metal,
two hands breaking a rifle in two.
I pinned it on my jacket,
the black leather one
that was stolen
I bought a new jacket,
also black leather,
I could have bought a new brooch,
identical to the one I had lost.
But I never did.
I couldn’t replace the connection lost.
when I lost
PHOTO: The author, second from left in Paris, about 1965.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
It’s strange something so trivial can be remembered so many years later. All it took was the prompt for me to visualize us sitting on the stairs looking glum! Oddly enough this is all I remember of our brief friendship. Perhaps without the gift of the brooch and it’s subsequent loss, I would remember nothing at all!
AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: Not my brooch, just an identical one from the Internet.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places, and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy, and reality. Her poem “A Rose For Gaza” was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud “War Poetry for Today” competition 2014. This and many other poems have been published in recent anthologies, including the Alice in Wonderland Anthology (Silver Birch Press), The Border Crossed Us (Vagabond Press), Selfhood (Trancendence Zero) — and journals such as Apogee, Firewords Quarterly, Guide To Kulchur, Indie Soleil, Midnight Circus, and Snapdragon as well as many other online and print publications. Visit her on facebook and at lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com.