Misty (a collection of my poetry) {{COMPLETE}}

attic

The attic was dusty

So dusty, in fact

That standing in it felt like being transported to another universe

Where instead of snow, dust rained down

And where shipping crates contained

The secrets of the infinite

Coming back down the ladder

And flinching into a world of bright lights

Felt like leaving a portal to the past

Where toys from the fifties

Were put after being played with for the last time

My mother told me not to go up there

Because I would get splinters from the torn-up boards

And rashes from the yellow insulation

But I didn't see the insulation, I saw the single yellow light

Dim and old but doing its best, and I related to it

My footsteps sent dust flying

And I didn't have asthma but I couldn't stop hacking

But my fingerprints covered every crate in that room, every toy

I think that they liked being played with again

I learned which crates were empty

I found the acorns squirrels had hidden in the roller blades my dad never wore anymore

The baby birds by the tiny window

Were my friends

More than any humans

And the attic was my home

More than the house down the ladder

And any house down the street out into the too-big world.