Steeling Into the Attic

steeling into the attic how much is contained in these boxes and bags of stuff? all of life, now, then and before. some able to warm the heart strongly as when newly minted. cruelty, giving rise to the chill of fear, pain a very few, sharp as this minute, tear into the armour long since created once again worn, like a poor beggars tatters. making sense, finally a piece or two will fit together a brief ah ha moment, then death returns, a bit of spirit crumbles, once again bent beneath the onslaught of his rage. I couldn’t walk the next day, he pulled me to school in the wagon. some how the pieces got separated and hidden, in a bag of sadness. summers at Candlewick free of fear no other boot would drop, for a while. I unpack each precious memory as I would a fragile Christmas ornament dangle its tantalizing glow ‘mazed at such magic, always kept in my heart. I enter sometimes slowly, to savour the relief of freedom sometimes quickly, for the rush of joy. running free-bird through gently waving, uncut grass welcome, creaks the aged granny slammer, the incense of cedar, Ingoldsby Bay and dusty roads surround promises of love and calm, safe times. age, years of collecting, storing, unbidden moments patient sorting fact from not so factual time softens sting for some warms the soul for others my trips to the attic are not fewer but much more comfortable I inspect the stew of things that created me I wonder, how long will a child’s memories last? as for me, I believe in, forever.