Worlds Apart, by Mike McBride

My first world was a chocolate box: discovery and innocence;

Free from the anxiety that one day I must leave.

Others have been better, and worse, but never so enchanting since.

The bedroom was a sacred place: filigree, white lace and chintz,

With tasselled woollen dressing gowns and strange exotic creams.

That first home was a ‘Jack-in-the-box’: encouraging my innocence.

The curtains a kaleidoscope: a dancing tree, a laughing prince,

The sunlight on the windowsill filtering my dreams.

Others have been better, and worse, but never so enchanting since.

The kitchen was a witch’s cave: boiling turnips and mince,

A cauldron of creation, of odours mists and steam.

Others have been better, and worse, but never so enchanting since.

By-magic tears would disappear: a mystery, just kiss and rinse.

Mother was my genie, a hanky up her sleeve.

My world died when I was six: Rupturing that innocence.

Today’s world of murder, fraud and perjury makes me wince,

Making childhood memories harder to retrieve.

My first world’s become a memory box: recovery of innocence;

Others have been better, and worse, but never so enchanting since.