I Remember

Memories make us who we are. These snippets from my childhood and teenage years definitely formed my character.

I remember

Wading in plastic sandals in the lake,

chasing tiddlers with a net and a jam jar.

The high steps up the slide in the park,

sliding headfirst, backwards, for a dare.

Warm milk in tiny bottles,

waiting in a crate outside each classroom door.

Not making it into the nativity play,

the indignity of the tambourine.

Country dancing in a homemade dress,

dozens of teams from schools all over Havering.

Friends in the same street, or round the corner,

birthday parties with games, cake and lemonade.

The timber framed library on the far side of town,

books with tickets in their brown card pockets.

A trip with my aunt on the tube up to London,

my thumb trapped for a long moment under the escalator handrail.

I remember

Living in the shadow of a pretty older sister,

forever on a diet, willing myself smaller.

Seeking comfort in schoolwork,

in the top five of the grammar school's top stream.

Crushes on boys who didn't know I existed,

the excitement when I knew I'd finally caught their eye.

Worrying I'd never get a boyfriend,

the thrill of my first at the age of fourteen.

Smiling at catcalls, whistles from passing cars,

rocking the platform shoes, flares, bangles and beads.

Asking my future husband on a date

spending the evening snogging at a friend's party.

Waiting for a friend at Romford station,

drinking wine from the bottle, before family planning clinic.

Above all, I remember

Shyness, the familiar comfort of the known,

always in tension with the imagined thrill beyond my comfort zone.

Everyday Poetry