Keys

Years after moving, keys to the back door of my old family home were found in a storage box In the storage room of the rented apartment. Memories of our long back garden erupted. When children the games we played, our dad mowing the lawn or clipping the hedge. The dogs, rabbits, birds we had, mum hanging out the washing. Teenage years and beyond spent reading on the back step and typing up my poems, sunning ourselves on the grass, playing with our niece and nephews, mowing that grass and dreaming after Dad died. Wrapping my hand around those keys, I dropped them in my kitchen bin and closed down those memories.