the night we hid our childhood memories
in drawers and cupboards and make believe-safes?
How we wrapped secrets and fairy tales
in the blankets our five-year-old selves
couldn’t sleep without.
Whispering, we gently placed them all in unforgettable treasure chambers.
Do you remember how the shoes that blinked when we walked
greying like streets heavy with rain,
as electricity bills ate all our ice cream pennies.
Our hiding places got more secret,
and as we walked past them yelling Marco, they stopped replying,
as deadlines and invoices and parking tickets called louder
than memories ever dared.
If you do, then please let me tell you
how last night I found that childhood drawer,
and today I’m sat here on the floor, flicking through dusty sweet wrappers
wondering whether I should give them back or not.
I almost throw them away.
Stamps are expensive and memories are heavy.
I’ve learned it’s not cheap,
to wrap nostalgia up in polaroid pictures
and Royal Mail envelopes.
I won’t throw them away though.
I don’t think I ever will.