which, rolling through the years, has gathered weight –
she asks me whether I can pull some threads out

and separate a necklace, or a brooch,
perhaps unsnag a pendant from a daytrip

that’s mixed up in her mind with something else.
I take the heavy melange of mementos,

and manage, with my fingernails, to tease
a pair of earrings out, a silver bracelet:

I think I recognise it as a favourite – when
she took her daytime look more solemnly,

and kept her hair coiffured, and jackets tidy,
used pricey makeup and a high-class crème.

We laugh a little as I ease the catches –
and loosen a few of the chains’ dull knots; 

I cannot make much headway, if I’m honest.
The gnarled-up pathways shrink into their host.