My!
Childhood yellows
in boxes in basements—
nostalgia skins fashioned
from newspaper, stationery,
and fabric soaked in two
decades of humidity.
Caskets are so pretty!
Childhood settles and sticks
to itself in corrugated sarcophagi—
old baby books, comic books,
and felt school banners
creased and pressed
into crunched corners.
Corpses are irresistible!
Forget-me-not is a name, but
also a prayer between
heartbeats, as fingers
pry open taped and tied
relics parents archived. I
pull back the warped flaps.
Ink is memory’s dried blood.
My spirit eyes see Moroni
standing over Joseph
as he lifts the Liahona
out of an old stone box.
Moroni sighs.
He giggles, “My!
I’d forgotten all
about that damn thing.”
The angel cries.
Joseph frowns and furrows
his brow: more stuff to carry.
Poet’s Notes:
For a different poem on a similar theme, try When Gold Plates were Stayin’ Alive.
This post’s featured image comes from Pixabay.
Wheat & Tares 
Absolutely wonderful! An excellent reminder of how joyous childhood was for those of us who spent it reading books and playing with toys. How sad it is for those children now who spend time playing violent video games and watching cat videos on YouTube.
JCS: Those cats are national heroes!
Well said, John. My favorite book was Origin of Species and my fave toy was a pellet gun for murdering songbirds. Not kidding.
p, but St Francis, President Kimball, and I love songbirds. Repent.
So timely!
I struggle knowing what to save of my children’s early years while appreciating the journals my now deceased mother kept. They give me a glimpse into a person I didn’t know so well these past few years she spent in assisted living and me hundreds of miles away.
Thanks Jake for the picture you painted!
You have nailed the feelings that come up during this bittersweet nearly-universal experience. My condolences to you if this means you are going through this currently.
Beautiful. Thank you.