Clearing the attic ready to move,
mostly we threw stuff away.
An old cardboard box
nearly went to the tip,
unopened – we’re short of space.
Something stopped me,
I don’t know what,
and I tore at the tape instead.
Years ago, the time of our lives
in journals had disappeared.
Eureka, I yelled, as I opened the box,
I’ve found two years in Seychelles.
A traumatic gap of another year
passed before I saw them again.
I‘m ready to re-write the story