Bookcase

My father had a bookcase in his room,
I wasn’t allowed to touch anything in it
Baubles and trinkets of his journeys
I had to promise him on a Tuesday, sternly
He wanted to keep his memories his
Encased in glass, high on a shelve

My father played on sunday afternoons
Threw us around the garden, boxing
Spraying the hose on sunny days, lemonade
He promised he would never ever hurt us,
He wanted us to know he was a fun dad
Encased in memories, mind high and dry

My father grew smaller as we grew up
Guiding us. A safe space to fall back to
Sweet strength for his girls throughout
A promise of better things in the future
He wanted us to keep believing in hope
Encased his girls to keep them as they once were

My father has trouble counting his sugars
Watery coffee and a tin of old cookies
No sister around. He explains “She has her life”
He promises she will do better, soon.
He wants to keep her memories of how she was
Encased in the old days when we were young

My fathers bookcase, I feel caught when I empty it
I remember his stories, and me, little, listening
I wonder if my sister will be there tomorrow
He promised before, he would understand
He wants us to continue softer and together
Encased in our love for him, stuck with each other

Encased years of sisterly judgement opened
She wants to decide on his baubles now
Promises of better behavior in his name
Her sweet smile, the bitter taste of betrayal
As she took more than he willed her to have

But I place our memories back in our bookcase