LOOKING BACK

I walked uphill, up the street,
Past the sleeping policemen
That my friend had informed me
Were actually bridges across the road,
As soon the road would become a river
And only boats would be needed.
I walk through my garden,
With the berry tree in the centre
And the freshly cut grass
Which I used to lie upon
And wonder if God mowed the clouds.

I entered my living room,
The smell of peaches welcoming me back,
Emanating from my mother's shell-shaped air freshener.
I stand on tiptoes at the fireplace,
Reaching up to peer into the mirror,
Wondering what mysteries it holds.
But of course I am too young, too small,
My father tells me to wait until I'm older
And for now lifts me onto his shoulders,
So I can see what all the fuss is about.

I climbed the stairs to my bedroom,
Flowers scattered across a pink stripy surface.
My cupboard filled with dolls
And their evening wear, beachwear,
A cafe and a beauty salon.
Upon the door hangs a pale pink dressing gown -
The bringer of nightmares,
As I awake in the early hours of the morning
To a figure standing in the shadows
And scream and shout for help
And run into my parents room,
Who show me that the gown is just a gown...
But of course I know different.

Now the sleeping policemen slow down cars,
The clouds are dispersing as night falls,
And the mirror holds only my face.
Several years older, several inches taller,
The dolls no longer wear glittering dresses,
And the gown is just a gown.