There is an unspoken rule that you can only own what you can carry with you

‘Is this all?’ asked the Matron casually

This is number 21 of fifty pieces of poetry and prose written by Peter Limbrick as a monument to adults and children who have lived and died or are living now in inhuman situations. They are all inspired by real experience.

 

Tobacco Tin

Interrupting our conversation the orderly

came into the Matron’s office to hand over

the remaining possessions of an inmate

who had died that morning.

‘Is this all?’ asked the Matron casually

sliding the scratched tobacco tin into her

desk draw.

There is an unspoken rule that you can

only own what you can carry with you.

Anything left on the ward will disappear.

Did this deceased person leave a bag of

stuff in which the tin was the only item

worth keeping for any interested relative?

Tobacco tins hold matches, cigarette

papers and tobacco keeping the next

smoke always handy. It is common for men

and women to scratch patterns on to the

lids making their tin a valued personal item,

like a family photo in a wallet.

 

The other 49 pieces can be seen here:

In Mind - a written monument to all people with intellectual disability. (Items 1 to 10)

In Mind - a written monument to all people with intellectual disability. (Items 11 to 20)

In Mind - a written monument to all people with intellectual disability. (Items 21 to 30)

In Mind - a written monument to all people with intellectual disability. (Items 31 to 40)

In Mind - a written monument to all people with intellectual disability. (Items 41 to 50)