‘Visiting Hours of the Past’ by Sandeen

tracing the outline of a faintly-sketched barrier,
soon to fade from my consciousness,
as my age flips to a double-digit,
and I am no longer being carried out of the car,
or placed on a beaten-up, musky smelling sofa to sleep on.

soon my memories will taste of sobriety and reminiscence,
and the lingering ache of a past life will remain,
as I am no longer five,
being cradled by the presence of home,
or being lulled by the muffled sound of someone singing.

my spine is throbbing from unwanted memories,
and slowly the barrier between the past and the present,
is weighing my ribs down.

as the hazy silhouette of a barrier closes in on me,
I close my eyes as I blow on fourteen candles,
and wish that there are visiting hours for the past.