In writing

He burned the letters 
in his possession—
they were legally his—

burned them without her knowing
at the bottom of the garden with
the rubbish.

He spoke as if every trace
of their first love 
had been erased.

*

My mother’s photographs packed into boxes,
forgotten after she died, came to my home 
when my father went into care.

After his funeral—time to go through them.
I find a large, sealed container
click           click           open   

at the bottom, a bundle in a ziplock bag labelled
in my father’s handwriting
‘VERY IMPORTANT LETTERS’

with oaths, declarations, hymns
of praise, psalms to beauty in creation, the Song
of Songs extolling her perfect breasts

then in pen and ink an illuminated initial ‘M’
like a medieval manuscript—
M for Maureen, M for Ming

in one of eight letters surviving 74 years—
legally hers, their love
in my safekeeping.

---

Jane Simpson writes poetry and history and has three full-length collections, the most recent being Shaking the Apple Tree (2024). Her poems have appeared in Allegro Poetry Magazine, London Grip, Poetry Wales, Hamilton Stone Review, Meniscus, Catalyst, and Poetry Aotearoa Yearbook.