Beneath The Bed

(A conversation with myself, appropriate to having moved house recently)

‘What’s in these drawers under here?
I think it’s time to clear them out.’

‘Ah no, you see it’s all important stuff,
I need to keep the things I’ve hidden there!’

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

‘What’s this? . . A rusty bicycle bell!’
‘No, sweet memories of the joy I felt
as country roads passed beneath my wheels.’

‘What’s this? . .  A worn out pair of walking boots!’
‘Yes, I wore those when we climbed at night
to see the dawn from the top of Melbreak.’

‘What’s this? . .  A tangle of knitting wool!’
‘For blankets crocheted out of love
to comfort suffering girls and boys.’

‘What’s this? . .  A pile of old play scripts!’
‘No, the lost dream of a venture,
the production which never happened.’

‘What’s this? . . Clothes I’ve never seen you wear!’
‘Well, they remind me of a younger self
many long years ago when I was slim.’

‘What’s this? . . A box of pens clogged with ink!’
‘The sad memory of a skill I had,
the calligraphy my tremor stole away.’

‘Well, you might want to keep all those,
But look at all this dirty grey fluff!’

‘Handle it with respect! That’s not just fluff,
it’s the dust of a thousand distant stars!’

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