My fingers pry through webbed memory
as if it were something I need only hold,
that,
should these hands surround
locked away spheres of recollection,
I
should be enveloped in a wave
of familiarity.

I have
been searching, as of late,
to recall more
of a childhood hidden.
Did I
imprison for a reason?
Did I
compartmentalise for safety?

So much fogged and blurred,
silhouette and shadow shuffle
along a dimmed screen,
their actions alien and yet
my fuzzy outline waves,
explanations beyond my reach.
Tune in, tune out,
reception marred by Faraday family,
my square eyes water, frustrated.