It was a sunny day <br />in Wales <br /> <br />as it can only be <br />in picture postcards. <br /> <br />It was pinned <br />above her bed <br /> <br />but with the picture side <br />facing the wall <br /> <br />as if she had turned away <br />from that scene a long long time ago. <br /> <br />I had only ever <br />seen it once <br /> <br />(when she was asleep <br />I took a peek) <br /> <br />a scrawl of words <br />told her that it loved her <br /> <br />in a fadey violet ink <br /> <br />that could now barely be <br />discerned. <br /> <br />The postcard itself <br />as fragile as a leaf. <br /> <br />“Don’t turn it! ” <br />she pleaded in panic. <br /> <br />“I like to see his voice <br />in words! ” <br /> <br />running her fingertips <br />over his I LOVE YOU! <br /> <br />letting it speak <br />to her <br /> <br />from the fragile fading past <br /> <br />letting it speak <br />to her <br /> <br />even from beyond <br />his death.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-voice-in-words/
