currency of generations
‘fetch the tin of buttons’
a quest to the cupboard
by the stairwell just outside
the room we dressed in
and spent all morning
because it was warm
‘the one with the fruits’
different sorts of fruit
pastel-coloured and
marshmallowy on a tin
‘they’re petit-fours’
something to understand
later (the taste had been sugary
and pasty and although
it looked like fruit it stuck
in my throat) now has
buttons which are cool
and swirly when I run
my finger through them
and marbled-enough
to see history and boiled-
sweet transparent-enough
to see worlds themed by colour
and echo from the clothes of
real people from family aunts
and uncles in the past who
I never knew or can’t remember
the lineage from which I came
all contained in the fading shine
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
a room in the House on Eglinton Hill
childhood & Eglinton Hill wormhole: rear attic / bedroom
family wormhole: celebrate
identity wormhole: the Penguin’s trap
lifetimes wormhole: my life / of others
Mum wormhole: wakey wakey / time to get up
muse wormhole: dream / 240897
mlewisredford 
Every house should have
a box of buttons
for holding memories…
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surely, on a slightly too high shelf in a cupboard in the hallway, where you have to stop and wonder about the meaning of family while stretching up to reach it
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You always conjure the senses. I can feel the cool of the buttons, the sound/vibration they make, the fluid clicking… Nice.💋
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it was always a joy to be sent to get the tin
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