Dolls in the attic

It was here we learnt

the true nature of adults;

of their inability to let children be.

 

I still remember your face

when you realised someone

was spying through the hatch –

 

I still remember your face

and the way it paled blank

and twisted as you were chastised

 

for playing in the attic with dolls;

I’m sorry, sweet boy, the toys

we played with became weapons

 

in other peoples’ hands,

I’m sorry the adults we knew

were too spiteful to understand.

 


In response to day 17: attic, #rainsasmprompts

 

Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

Available internationally

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