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.