When I dreamt you came back from death with something to say
You sat by me, looked down. Sorrow or shame?
You needed neither, nor needed to explain.
I wanted to share two memoirs, two gifts,
Two treasured reminders, one my broken toe
Which, when I cut the nail, I lift and wobble.
You dropped a bar on the joint when I was six,
When iron railings were cut for guns and tanks
Leaving their shining stumps to rust and go
The colour of our hair. To save the trouble
We daren’t show mother. No secret the gold inlay
In the front tooth you punched and chipped away
A triangle cleverly replaced by P B Ross-Tuppin,
Your gift and his because it cost me nothing.
