My childhood was inside books-
Fairy tales and detective stories;
Tonight when the city dies another death
I clutch at my laptop
I look up those books
But I can’t go back to my grandmother’s old apartment and get them
I can’t go back to
When I was not more than three feet high
When I felt pretty
And the green grass called me
It doesn’t, anymore
How strange it is that the grass loses voice
And I lose mine
I was nine but my little palm
Could hold a world of confidence
I trapped it in my fist and placed it on my hips
I wore my blue frock and posed
And I thought the world was mine
Now I think I was stupid
Now I know I was happy
Now I know, it’s childhood
The grass, the sky, the trees, the roads,
Hell, even the streetlights after rain
They’ve all lost their voices
My old books lie dead
Do they miss a blue-frocked girl?
But I miss her
She didn’t care about the bad days she had
She was me, some day.
Now, just a third person pronoun I can’t reach
I’ll allow myself some tears
While wishing she were here
She has a lot that she could teach.
mimimusing 