I put the tape 

in the VCR last night,

watched years flash by

in reverse, 

watched it all come undone

then I flicked out the tape 

looked at the black box of memories 

and stories 

when you're young you have these dreams,

ideas about how your life is going to go

and they are almost all wrong. 


I stare at the tape 

put it back in the box

put the box back on the shelf

in the dusty attic

brushing dead bugs

and cobwebs aside. 


I sit down in the darkness

close my eyes 

and watch as the pictures 

come to life against my eyelids

a symphony of colour and light 

a cacophany of mistakes 

and regrets 

and hope. 


In this moment now 

I wouldn't undo a single thing. 

I cannot live my life in rewind 

so I can only go forward 

as bravely and fiercely 

as I have in the past

and really, what does the past matter?

that is not who I am anymore.


it is who I was,

who I thought I was.

she has settled down

in the bottom of an old box.

smiles forth from old pictures 

blinks in home movies 

she is here and gone 

and I am what she left behind:

shadow girl,

lunar face, 

fluttering brown moth,

pale skies,  



This poem is about: 


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