“What personal belongings do you hold most dear?”
I can’t believe I nearly reject her at first
thinking the new can’t contain the old
that the old might hold back the new.
I was afraid we’d hopelessly mismatch,
clash like the Titans. Having her around
me though I realized we were more alike
than different. Now closer than a second
skin I hold her, she, shielding me against
all that’s cold and all that makes me fold.
Growing up might mean discarding what
might hold you back, mar your view
strip you off your essence and let have
rot. But what if there are lessons in
the used? The well loved and had?
That they still are as lovable and wearable
as the new. What if they speak out that
worn may not necessarily mean outdated?
I love this coat with a love so wild
that I swear I feel it emit heat every
time I adorn it in readiness for a walk
in the wild. Maybe its the love that mum
left in between its wafts and weaves that
lights up and warms up when it feels
the skin of her daughter caress it. As
the wind kisses my form I feel her spirit
taking each stride as I, encouraging self
to move, dream, dare, do, dominate…
Through storms and shine, her coat
covers my back. It’s as if it has a life
of its own urging me to live on. Surely
how could I ever have almost let her
be ejected? She may be a hand-me-down,
this jacket, it’s definitely not yet time to
hand her down to death.
I don’t know what this makes of me
that I don’t let memories leave the
way I’ve let others leave. That I bring
life to things every time I hold them
just by firing up the memories sewn
in between these sentimental objects,
hugging them like a lifeline…
Empress of Bookingham 