After they made love
As he lay sleeping
She shaved her pubic hair
Sewed it unwashed
Into a corner of the lace handkerchief
She gave him in the morning
When he left for war.
All that returned to her
Was the cloth,
Its special corner
Stained by his blood.
It lay for years
In her dresser drawer,
Taking on the scent
Of laundry soaps,
Of her perfume,
Of tears and time spent aching.
It lay for decades more
In a trunk of her belongings,
Cedar oils souring sweeter smells.
Sepia with age,
Blood stains brown and black,
Lace fragile to the touch,
The handkerchief was found
By hands shaped like hers,
By eyes that echoed his.
Old lace and hair,
Old blood and love
Provided DNA for testing.
Mingled lay their
Heir’s proof of connection
To a fortune left unspent,
To a love left unfulfilled.
A touch across time
Of separation’s pain,
Of connection’s truth,
Sighed free at last
When lace was dust,
When dust was scattered
For everyone to breathe.
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