Dog Hair
Your hair is all I have left of you:
It is on the floor and all over my clothes.
Your body is buried at the bottom of the garden,
Yet it feels so far away
Because now it belongs to the earth.
Your hair is the little of you that remains:
You are but a memory
That people would never know you had existed
Until they saw a photo—
And, even then, it would not be you.
So I will not wash my clothes or hoover the carpet
As your hair is all I have left
Of you.
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