It's smaller than I remember
Not that I possessed many things,
it always seemed like everything could fit in here
even the things I scarcely use;
The woolen jumper that scratches my neck,
The mittens, now too small to fit,
The bandanna with a stain or two
Its strange how things get put away to not be seen again
That is what I am now
in this moment.
I must remind myself to air out my cupboard once I get out.
I'm breathing in the stale air my possessions do
It smells of worn wood and detergent
The smell of a home I've always known.
There is a faint rattling
I try and hold my legs together to keep them from shaking
I hate that all I can hear is my short breath
I don't want to move to rub my eyes again.
More thuds of weighted boots
My legs are cramping now
That recent growth spurt didn't do me good.
My damn knees keeping knocking together
Mama always said I couldn't keep still
Why do I get the feeling
that once I leave my small cupboard
That I won't be the same again?
My Dad was 16 at the time when Pinochet's men barged into his home. He had to hide in a cupboard as to not be taken away. My family have suffered from this dreadful man's dictatorship in Chile and I will be forever grateful that my family are safe. I suddenly wondered what it would have been like to have to hide in your own home. To go have to grow up fast.