It’s Not My Childhood

But I’ll remember it for you.
You gorged yourself on wild pears
Scarred apples picked from gnarled trees
Snakes lurked underfoot among the tall grasses
But you learned to eat your fear with screams,
Transformed it into ecstasy.
You had no use for quiet.
From brambly bushes you plucked the berries
that snapped sweet and tart in the mouth
staining the tongue, the teeth.
What you didn’t eat right there
Beneath the hungry yellow sky
You carried home in the loose hammock of your skirt
For your mother to cook down into jam.

Curiosity: A love letter to abandoned houses by Monica Lacey