yard sale dolls and tiny china teacups
uneven pigtails with a topsy turvy part
dreams of new corduroys
from the Sears and Roebuck catalogue
neighborhood games in the schoolyard
watching All in the Family with Mom and Dad
but not understanding much
John Denver, Don Maclean, and The Osmonds were
the soundtrack of our backyard swing set:
childhood memories haunt me
charming and cheerful
comfortable
like Casper the Friendly Ghost.  

a dim basement burning
with a monster furnace, growling all winter long
creaking wood floors above
spooked me as I played make believe
alone with a dark shadow
my innocence was sacrificed
culled not by a stranger
but a known demon, sibling
in grotesque silence.
I was just five years old:
childhood memories haunt me
chaotic and coercive,
catastrophic
like Willy Wonka’s factory.  

a lifetime has passed and
the boogeyman has gone away
my mind, though, plays
Ghosts in the Graveyard because
childhood memories linger.