The space
between
Granny’s wardrobe and bed
was the safest place the
world could afford at age six.
I knew every inch, nook
and cranny, (excuse me)
Where I hid my treasures,
The stale smell of newspapers, her spittoon,
Uncovered boxes as dust-covered
as the paths I’ve since trodden.
Coming back to finish it another day…
the world was simpler because the world was smaller,
it never mattered how many times we met. We met.
a lunchbox meal was a pretty romantic thing to do.
long train rides and walks didn’t make your feet hurt
as much as they now do.
It seems your world had grown beside me,
who smiled gaily and perhaps stupidly
exploding in a million shiny, platinum covered luxuries.
And our world seemed barren of promise,
tread-bare, over-eaten, missing the zest of champagne bubbles.
Bubbles that float on effervescent dreams,
which are too big for me.
There was a time when we was enough for you and me.
I felt so sure that I would be ok.
