Tales of Past Romance (The Canterbury Museum)

I used to foxtrot past amethysts and opals

glistening under the low lights

ghost my hands over plaques explaining where they came from,

who owned them, whose lover they were given to.

I used to get mesmerised by bird calls from red buttons,

I’d drift past old penguins,

Me and my dad would say they like to move it, move it.

I ultimately got scared by stone lions

and hunched in on myself when I walked past mannequins that felt a little too real.

The smell of hot chips wafted down the stairwell before we'd enter the cold Antarctic.

The walls were lined with jackets covered in fur

and a room where whale calls echoed past my ears.

I’d walk past rows of forgotten stories,

learn their tales and share their words.

Distant documentaries filled with the pacifying voice

of someone named David.

I heard the thump of gentle footsteps and breath

in the comfortable, heavy quiet.

This was my home

and I beg for its return.