Scenes of Childhood Frozen in Time

by Bailey Lint

it’s a spacious room, with four walls and a patterned ceiling

full of long-forgotten toys, tucked away in white corners, hidden in baskets

behind closed doors, small enough for a child to hide within, veiled

from their seeking cousins and siblings, who caused quite a ruckus.

antlers and fur coats decorate the bland white walls, a splash of color here and there

in the presence of painted hands and footprints, made by he who is loved.

memories, though sometimes feeling foreign, arise from animals such as the bear,

its stuffed head and body being the closest reminder of what once lived.

dolls are strewn about, their life paused by the drama of a young mind.

swords lay discarded by a loud and dark furnace room, an indication of battles fought

long ago.

haphazard board games, thrown in frustration of a monetary bind,

scattered across the old, plush carpet, littered with arrows from the old training bow.

a large television often reflects the light of a grand video game,

its picturesque pixels bounding and bouncing on the glass sliding door.

whoever lost would find themselves the victim of both light and heavy blame,

round after round after round, we’d always shout, “One more!”

unkindly, the old grandfather clock looms above our heads

threatening us with ticks and tocks, its hands ever-creeping,

towards the time in which we must head up the stairs to our little beds.

we’d always resist, calling to our toys for help, weeping.