By scqueen
Date: 2 December 2000
Attic Space
One of my most vivid memories
as a child
is creeping up rickety wooden ladder steps
to the attic
before Christmas,
in my footie pajamas,
my mama right behind
to catch me
if I missed my footing.
I knew it was a special time
because it was sort of a forbidden place
and I was a scaredy-cat anyway.
To my immediate right was a
wooden rocking horse
that I'd outgrown
but she was saving "just in case".
To the left, were boxes
of Halloween costumes,
most of them homemade.
And to the far end,
right near the garage,
where she always warned me
not to step through the insulation
or I'd fall through the ceiling,
were our Christmas ornaments.
The most magical of objects.
They reinforced my elf sightings
and the feel of Santa
in our house on Christmas eve.
I don't have an attic now,
but my mind is a storage place of sorts.
There I hold you dear and I am not afraid
of falling because I know that you are here to catch me.
Our ornaments are the most magical of moments
as are the memories of our marriage.
You are my elf, my Santa,
my love,
my Christmas.
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner