A summer's night in my room.

I remember my childhood home

Where the brightly colured t-shirts and unicorn underwear would sway on the line

And I too, would sway in and out of the clothes, pretending 

Like that scene in the Greatest Showman

Where the two lovers had run away from the known 

And dancing on the edge of what could be. 

If my childhood is Etched in Gold  

Laced with Laughter

Sprinkled in Sunlight 

Why am I still grieving?

Why, when on a summers night do I write such sad poetry about such a happy memory?

Because now, the washing line are lined with the same small t-shirts 

Yet the patterns are faded 

And the front is torn

It's being used as a cloth to dry surfaces.

It doesn't seem to dance anymore. 

Or maybe I stopped looking at it the right way.