I would cast in bronze this space,
a fossil from my past, a moment
where I once crouched, smiling
over some small natural wonder.
Fill the cavity, the child shaped cyst
which sticks fool hardily amongst my memories,
the moment just before I was displaced
and took to tearing at my self in shame.
For sake of sanity, display it
so I can look upon it
and know that it existed.
Make of it a Pompeii tomb,
the moment of my childish wonder
exhume the tiny space in time when I was glad
to have inhabited my little life. Solidify
her shape with concrete. So I might tip-toe my fingers
blindly down the ridges of her back
and recognise her once again.
If you have any comments on this poem, Wendy Pratt would like to