Her Satin Head Scarf

The satin head scarf was the only thing I could remember her wearing before she headed into the hospital, that last time, two weeks ago. I had it neatly packed in a box of her things, never again worn, until today.

I slowly unfolded the unseen scarf, smelling it, hoping to recognise the scent of her—it was gone. I ran my fingers down its length and the cherished memories came back into focus. Those dimples, her laugh, that smile.

I’m wearing her scarf on my freshly shaved head, with this black dress. My sister would have loved it.