Another L-shaped Room, by Chris Hemingway

Tomorrow she’ll leave these walls behind,
with their smell of Woodbines and magnolia,
which never fades or dries,
and step into another L-shaped room.

Where bottles, jars and magazines
can stay half-opened.
Where the shelves will creak,
and speak in tongues
of vivid art animals.

Where the cover to the visitors book
can be quietly removed,
as from tomorrow
it will be a diary

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