The Saturday poemBooks This article is more than 16 years oldReviewFlame by Elaine Feinstein
This article is more than 16 years oldThere must be something I still hope to find.
Honour, perhaps. I do not look for love.
We never said goodbye, though I remember
whispering to you in the Royal Free,
'You do know, I have loved you all my life?'
with a quick nod and smile your only answer.
Once you described me as a natural spinster
meaning a loner, happiest on my own;
you knew that was not so. Once home from
hospital, you called me wife and mother -
that last was what you wished.
Will you take these poems from me now
as if they were Akhmatova's snowdrops,
or a flame in a clay dish?
· From Talking to the Dead by Elaine Feinstein, published by Carcanet (£9.95). To order a copy for £9.95 with free UK p&p call Guardian book service on 0870 836 0875 or go to theguardian.com/bookshop
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