Spilled Boxes From the Museum of Me

My closet is a museum

of whom I was, where I began.

Boxes hold tight to secrets,

the already known, and dreams

I hoped would grow, but never

found the right garden.

Photographs of a precocious child

dressed in secrets peers up from

plastic, sepia pages with eyes

that speak of lessons learned

from the darkest fairytales.

Not all is dreary, yellow hair 

captured in black and white

shows wind dancing with 

every strand as I chased sunlight

across my front yard.

Bright orange pops from a photo

in splashes of lace, a bold thumb

in the eye of every other girl

who pasteled her prom with expected. 

My rebellion shakes me with giggle

memories of how I stood out

in all my bold never fitting in. 

Time and places, faces remembered,

faces I can’t recall hold space on shelves

as a mish mash history book of my journey

to finding my way through Red Riding Hood’s

wolf pages with all their teeth I was able to outrun. 

©Susie Clevenger 2024

What's Going On? ~ Keepsakes and Treasure Chests