Memories

Rows of boxes
Neatly stacked,
Labelled,
The old ones at the back.

Some mysterious,
Their lids stuck,
And I would
Look inside,
If I could
Remember how
They unlock.

Some neat,
Kept shut.
Those I do not open much
Or dwell upon.
But still, a part of me
I need to keep.

Some tatty,
And torn,
The handles worn,
From being taken down often.
Their contents always
Jumbled and rearranged,
So they sometimes seem
Quite strange
To anyone but me.

Then there are
The mischievous ones,
Spilling open
Refusing to stay closed
Their laughter overflows.
And from time to time
They flicker and dance
In front of my eyes,
And I am hypnotised.