Childless in the Museum of Childhood

Childless in the museum of childhood. The museum attacks us like a sparrow hawk. So close to love – but the zebra gets up and walks down the street. The explanation for your choice was lost like a web in a burning barn. I came close to you but the hinges became like earthworms in tubas. Once again the wings of dragonflies fill my pockets, you hug your dolly to your bosom like a grenadier guard walking in space. My pretending friend of childhood is here, she is living in the doll’s house in the darkened corner. There are so many shadows living here in the Museum of Childhood, they cannot all belong to Peter Pan,

Childless in the museum of Childhood. Love do you go in without your pocket money? How do you feel not knowing how to place the blame? Do you feel warm wrapped up in the heat of your tireless anger? What do these childless eyes say to you? Are there pterodactyls in the skies of your dreams? My friendship is a ship of the line going into battle; my body is to be divided as the spoils of war. My face is the face of the moon over a blazing dolls house. My body has been given to the silversmith for a salver, you place your empty cups on one, and oh, you’ve placed your empty cups on me in the Museum of Childhood.

Take away my head-covering see how tall my antlers are. Why should you go childless in the Museum of Childhood? Why should you hunt me down with the weapon of your mouth? The summer has compressed us into the Museum of Childhood like two sardines between its heatwaves. My heart is darker than an African woodcarving, sweeter than a black morass of wild blackberries. Is your heart white like clouds of milk, are your arteries blue like oceans, is your soul divided amongst the exhibits, it is painted upon the faces of dolls and is written on the sides of the toy buses, it is printed like alphabets in bright colours. In a glass case within a glass case my flesh is scared by broken glass.

It is so calm in this great hall. Let us sit here like two best friends. Let us remember the games we played and find new ways to play them. Let us make a den for ourselves in the girders and stay there all night. Like two good children let us go there to do our homework. Let us fall out over the last cream cake, then kiss, and make up. I know I am old now but I know this one thing here in the Museum of Childhood, it is wrong to be so sad.

1999

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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