Memories

Visiting my childhood home is both salty and sweet

It brings memories of yelling, of weaponised disappointment.

I sang myself to sleep with lullabies of wondering if I would ever be good enough

The stuffed toy I clutched at night was my desire for unconditional love.

I learnt to stand on my own two feet before I could walk

To be the smart girl who offers intelligent conversation before I could even talk.

I learnt to contort myself into boxes to please the expectations of adults

And how to avoid minefields and disarm nuclear explosions.

But as I walk past rooms it is laughter I hear, and singing

My brother and I recording interviews and duets for our radio show

The pictures I painted on my wall are still there, the tigers with heads too big for their bodies

And the monobrow my brother gifted it while I was away.

The smell of the perfume I dropped still lingers in my teenage bedroom

Eyeliner and nail polish still mark my dresser.

It brings back memories of whispered promises of friendship in the dark

Of confessions of crushes and swapped stories of kisses, and later sex.

Mum’s too garlicky pasta has permanently scarred my tastebuds

The jokes that followed still bring a smile to my face

And the precious gems of “I love you” and “I’m proud of you”

Cherished, rare, costly