texas, and bedrooms.

I found my childhood in the attic,
a bandanna around my face,
hot breath against my cheeks.
where dark spiders and dust mites invaded
the space small hands, attention use to.
each deformed doll, and spongy
cardboard box deteriorating beneath
my fingers, unleashing dust and tears but no emotion.
disgusted and allergic.
until Im slowly remembering the texture of a
blanket, the fading illustrations of this book,
and they hold me in a trance.
texas, and bedrooms,
simple mornings and young mothers.
good days I remember forgetting,
when I had to separate the old and new.
when I had to cope.
but Im remembering them today.
Im remembering who I was.