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The Wardrobe

by Jojovits1 

Posted: 07 February 2019
Word Count: 119
Summary: I was a messy child (hell, I'm a messy adult!). I was forever being told to tidy my wardrobe as it was just a jumble of clothes, toys, books etc. This was one of those council house (storage was always better) jobs that you could climb into and get lost. And I did. Frequently. I went back when we were clearing the house when mum moved to Oz. The wardrobe was full of her clothes now and very neat but my chalked sayings and love hearts were still there, 30-40 yrs on. :-)


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Clothes and toys,
stepping stones
of books
invited me
to dream
behind
concertina doors.
 
Teddy bears,
Cindy Dolls
My first communion dress,
hand made.
Delicate and tiny.
Chocolate stain
on satin ribbons
that never would
wash out.
 
Chipboard canvas
told my history
in chalked quotes
and childish graffiti.
Who I loved
by how many percent.
 
If I climbed high
to the upper shelf,
a family tree of
Dust and memory
in paper albums.
Never met but
always known.
 
I would hide,
knees drawn in,
book in hand
lost in the land
of When I’m Older.
 
Now I am.
I went back to look.
House empty.
Toys gone.
My chalked graffiti
like a little ghost
still there
behind
concertina doors.






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Comments by other Members



V`yonne at 17:35 on 08 February 2019  Report this post
Oh that is sweet and lovely, Jo-Ann

I loved

Who I loved
by how many percent.

and

lost in the land
of When I’m Older.

gorgeous!

Sam_H at 20:49 on 08 February 2019  Report this post
This is wonderful. I love the thought of the chalk messages still being there years later.

Thomas Norman at 20:11 on 09 February 2019  Report this post
What lovely memories and still they persist. Great poem.

Thomas.

crowspark at 17:10 on 11 February 2019  Report this post
I love the way you have used the height of the wardrobe (and the shape of your poem) to add to your memories.

stepping stones
of books
invited me
to dream
behind
concertina doors.

If I climbed high
to the upper shelf,
a family tree of
Dust and memory

And I imagine you at the bottom of the wardrobe:

I would hide,
knees drawn in,
book in hand
lost in the land
of When I’m Older.

And your return to the house:

My chalked graffiti
like a little ghost

Lovely poem!


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