Buried Childhood

A poem, a poet’s note and a poetry writing prompt

Photo by Rene Bernal on Unsplash

The road home slashes through
the hills and valleys of my childhood.
Too far to travel, I’ve muttered many times

and turned my face to
about-to-happen days
which show only promise.

Compulsion to return
nags and tugs at my skirt
like the child I was
clamoring for attention.

I dream of fond parents
turning nasty,
hold my own child tight
and kiss her more than
I was ever kissed.

Those times assumed their explanations
adult I provided rationales
moved pain to sub-terrain

but now I travel back
to dig for secret bones and
piece the skeleton together.

Photo by Ben Wicks on Unsplash

Poet’s note: I think we all have childhood memories we’d rather forget but those are usually…