My Eyes Tell My Age

Found my childhood, all bottled up into a plastic yellow flashlight.
Faded black marker determines the possession between my sister and I.
The nights hiding beneath the sheets conjuring stories…
The nights spent scared and alone in the dark; it all sits beneath the screw holding what gives the yellow plastic life.
Not batteries, which are now covered with acid and crusted into place.  No telling how long it’s sat and withered away in the darkness, under the weight of growing up.

Found my childhood, seashells all glued together to form a tiny disproportional turtle with crisp, black beads for eyes.
On the bottom it reads, 1996. My grandfather’s hand is extraordinarily large as it sits in his palm.
I smell the salt from the ocean that filled my nose every year as I grew.
The turtle sits in my hand now. His hand is no more.

Found my childhood, but I can’t manage to steer clear of its path.
You see, I’ve been masked by the darkness I hold from the sheer panic of the question,
“What comes next?”

I found my childhood, but it’s the moments I can’t hide from.

I found my childhood, but I’m no longer a child.
My eyes tell my age.

Reviews

[GTVile]

Wow, that was powerful, particularly to the sentimental. I like how vividly you were able to relate your own experiences through the individual items. I can definitely understand that constant fear of what comes next; I'd say it's an overriding and pervasive (if not intrusive) part of my life as well. You summed up the feelings of a lot of people, I'd wager, and it always helps a piece to be able to be related to. Excellent.

[zainul]

Amber,you have nicely brought my childhood back by your golden work.
It is really important to go back to childhood again and again while growing up.
Your discovery of childhood and the way how your eyes tell age are new message for me.
Thanks for sharing great thoughts.

[Sami Khalil]

I found my childhood,
but it's the moments I can't hide from.
A nice write.

[icaros13]

A very enjoyable read. It took me back (how many years I won't disclose) to when my sister and I used to build makeshift tents and stay up all night just having fun. I think I shall stop writing and go call her now...

[Lady Cardinal]

I think everyone can relate to this poem. At least I know that I can. Everything can carry a memory from a flashlight to a photo, a drawing, a piece of music, or a blanket. I have this pocketwatch that doesn't work anymore. It will never be useful to anyone because it has lost its ability to tell time. But to me it holds much more than time. It makes me think of my dad and when he gave it to me and all the memories I had carrying around that pocketwatch.

I really like this poem. :) And I love the title of it which was what drew me over to read it. :)