Her Collection

They called it her collection,

mementoes from all over the place.

I didn’t know where all over the place was

but the painted figures were so colourful 

I thought it must be very different 

to the grey drizzle of this place.

They told me they weren’t toys,

I was not even to touch them,

I could only look 

as they stood

silently 

in line 

on their shelves.

Sometimes, though

when they pleaded with me 

through their silence,

I gave them a little stroke,

I know it pleased them.

And once,

just once,

I took them down,

freed them from their cupboard,

from the straight lines of shelving

and allowed them to touch each other

to behave as they once did in their place.

That was the only time I heard them speak

and the colours poured from their voices

all over the place.

And now, it’s another time

and I’m in a different place 

watching them still standing speechless. 

Even their colours are muted with dust now

but I can hear their voices through the silence.

They’re pleading with me to free them again.

So I shall bid for Lot 53,

her collection.

https://theliterarynest.org/2021/06/03/lynn-white/

Editor’s Note: The old lady’s captive collection of painted figurines come alive in the young child’s imagination, and the child breathes life into them. The idea of capturing the essence of the place one has traveled to in an object is a metaphor for something more significant. This poem tenderly shows us how an innocent child can set the world free.