This short piece of verse deals with memories that we all have locked up in our minds. Is it better to take them out and examine them, with a view to dealing with past issues, or is that too Oprah Winfrey. Perhaps, for some, the past is better left exactly there?
That old box is dusty yet strong,
its rusted lock long since corroded into disrepair.
A single jolt to scatter those flakes,
to send antiquated security tumbling.
The lid is freed.
Although the saddened hinges
stubbornly protest intrusion,
The box yields.
Its contents clean, untouched,
yet feeling strange now.
They are still mine.
I browse and hoke and poke
into the now remembered hoard.
With new eyes the myriad items,
once mystifying, appear anew.
Armed with an adult understanding
of the experiences of a child,