The Past.

Show me the past

in macaroni art

and daisy chains

strung together like pearls

with little fingers, stained

in wonder

and acrylic paints;

show me portraits

of stick men families

and papier maché

with balloons that burst

and statues of clay

in firey kilns, that crisp

into white

from sloppy grey.

Show me the alphabet

on chalkboards

and sand pit houses

built beside the knees

of patchwork trousers

whose holes are filled

with memories 

and blue denim flowers;

show me the past

as it bubbles

in your minds eye

where your childhood plays

and nostalgia sighs

between echoes

of laughter

and tumbling blocks of time.