Memory is a curious thing isn't it? We think that our memories are real, that they are honest records of past happenings, events and experiences. But are they? Is it more the case that our memories change as we do? That as we go through life how we remember the past is altered, reconfigured? I have been attending a life writing class for some time now and I am often asked to revisit my past and write something coherent or legible from this. I often struggle as I simply can't recall a great deal of it, especially my childhood. It was such a long time ago and much has happened since. However, below is what I like to think a more successful attempt at excavating my early experiences. I hope you enjoy.
Suburban Safari
We are adventurers in a lost world,
Rachel, Richard and I, next door neighbours
jungle trekking through the bush,
our imaginations are engines throbbing,
ticking over with wild imaginings -
lions, tigers, and dragons may be hiding,
crouching
waiting
to leap out -
pouncing!
tearing us limb from limb -
swallowing us whole.
Near the stepping stones are monsters
toy dinosaurs lay scattered –
strewn across the path carefully constructed by Daddy.
We are creeping,
peeping
six circular eyes like flying saucers
heart beats thudding in our brains,
trepidation coursing through our veins,
hiding in suburban shrubbery
where jagged slivers of cerulean
pierce the spartan canopy,
blood red buds above our heads are waiting -
around our ankles, green tinged swords.
Time is an alien notion,
have we been exploring for minutes, hours or days?
reaching the jungles’ edge
stepping out onto the lawn,
shoes soaked by the shower kissed grass
relief
we made it!
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