Wooden Bag - Richard Dawson

A knapsack made of oak

Purchased for thirty francs

From a market in Geneva

In 1968

Carved from a single piece of wood

A level of workmanship one rarely comes across today

Many rainstorms have not dulled the lustre of the wood

The lid of the satchel is made up of slats

Affixed to a piece of sky-coloured felt

It closes with a click

And fastens with a clasp

The shape of a bumblebee

Blown in glass

The shoulder strap is equally quaint

A daisy chain of leather

Fraying at the zenith of its arc

At the centre of each flower there lies a bead of wood, oh

I can’t throw this bag away, oh

I can’t throw this bag away

A bar of highland toffee

Its wrapper still intact

With an expiration date

Of J.A.N.

86

A strip of contraceptive pills

A box of Anadin Extra

Half a dozen of those tiny Ladbrokes pens

Shells collected from the shore of Newton-by-the-Sea

The smell of the ocean

In a used handkerchief

A lattice of hairpins combing the beach

A cloth-bound diary

Filled with cartography

Countries that you saw

Whilst you were asleep

Receding into leaf

I can see a bridge of moonlight flowing, oh

Through the page

How I miss you, I can feel it in my molecules, oh

I can’t throw this bag away, oh

I can’t throw this bag away