Attic Treasures

 

Flickers of light

beg to slip through cracks;

tiny footsteps

on wood floors, creak.

 

Grandma had an attic.

There were cobwebs

the smell of books,

my Mom’s old roller skates

and the doll with button eyes

I thought I had lost.

 

There were stacks of reader’s digests

and there was a hiding place

where tears were allowed

(even for little girls);

 

the only place I could breathe

and let dreams out to play;

just me and my pen

 

scribbling secrets in a big chief tablet.

 

 

~

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