I packed up my childhood
In a heavy wooden trunk
And hid it where no one could find it.

I thought that I could save it,
Take it out later,
And wear it again like my favorite coat.

But When they were taking me in the police car,
Packed in so tightly against the others-
Like sardines or slaves on a ship-
I lost my key as they dragged me from my mother’s home.

I am older now
And I still cannot find it.
And the trunk is too heavy to break.

I think of my childhood,
Alone in the stifling dark,
I hear it scuttling about sometimes.
And I want to cry.