Psychic Remnants – #Napowrimo 25

 

grahame park.jpg

I wonder if some memories remain
in the space that they were made,
echoes of distant times
residing after we have left the place.

Ghosts in the atmosphere
of who we once were,
while we are still living,
could a part of us still be there?

In northwest London,
a brand new 70’s construction
on the fourth floor, the middle block,
the hallway smelled of fresh emulsion.

A child, just seven years old,
wilful, uncontrolled,
sent to her room
red faced and scolded.

Her sister was out,
her mum was shouting
as she climbed the stairs,
13 of them, she was counting.

From under her sister’s bed,
where she ran and hid
among dusty sweet wrappers,
her still shallow breath!

Just imagine staying there forever,
among the lost treasures,
of childhood fantasy,
and living on displeasure.

And discarded mouldy snacks,
shifting right into the back,
disappearing into nothingness,
so there would be nothing to smack.

Is she still there,
now the tower blocks have fallen
into shallow gentrification,
memory of a girl suspended, high in the air
of frightened anticipation?

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