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Belonging, by Britta Benson

Today, my poem was inspired by my old phone. A phone I keep, because it has all the messages my mother sent me. And although she died over a year and a half ago, I still hang on to this phone and can’t bring myself to let go. Not quite. Not yet. I will, in due course. Today is not the day to let go, instead, I wrote a poem about it. It might have brought me a step closer to letting go.


I keep a spare,

a second heart

in my breast pocket.

A black and shiny

treasure, covering

my chest like a shield

with all the messages

you sent me. A past,

still beating, closer

in my present, as

your profile picture

smiles at me from

behind the screen.

Britta Benson


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