I ascend the ladder, filled with determination
Brimming with good intentions
I poke my head inside
It’s chocka
Rammed to the rafters,
swollen with souvenirs,
Articles from each episode
or phase of our life.
Clothes, books, costumes,
Electrical items, wires,
Musical instruments lie silenced
hoping to be played
Neglected cherished detritus
A treasure trove
and a weight around my neck
I long to live lightly
To be free
As I trawl through the build-up
In each corner
It consumes every surface
Boxes and Boxes
Trash.
Tennis rackets, roller skates, hockey sticks
Scrap books, teddies (mine, his and the kids)
Every piece a memory
The aim – to bin a skip-
full. I lift, remember, put back
I can’t let go
I’m way too sentimental
I don’t know why!
It’s all just stuff,
festering above my head
Until the next time when
I reach for it
In another vain
attempt to be free.
These trinkets glow in my hands,
each one transporting me back.
Why can’t I just store memories in my head?
Why the need for a reminder
that’s substantial, that’s physical?
So much less space intensive
Way more liberating, but…
What happens when memory starts to fail
What will remain of me, of us,
of the lives we lived? And so
I allow these precious, throwaway articles
one more stay of execution.
Descending the ladder with a heavy heart.
That familiar feeling of enduring impotence.
Failure.
I close the hatch and reflect
I’ll try again next month
Poetry for Dullards 