Fashion a Story

Help –

My name is ____

I’m

Tinkerbell?

No, I am gerbera daisy, a pink rose?

Surrounded by women in pantyhose,

green polka dots sprinkled on light pink…

Crap, it would seem I am

taunted by the gently-creaking swing set,

unwilling to live with the insistent witch-opera…

Apologies, I digress.

I met the Error of My Ways,

who laughed at me,

so I chose Anywhere,

leaving Nowhere behind,

carrying my body with me,

to the median on Broadway

across from the Flatiron building,

sipping a grande, iced, skinny vanilla latte.

There, I saw Robin who smiled at me, crookedly,

flitting away to perch in a Burch,

as a woman walked by me, muttering.

The woman was gone as I exhaled my breath,

forgetting that my eyes would disappear

before my toes followed suit

then my knees

my belly button

my –

fr

   ag

       ments.

I’m collecting parts

to fashion a story

that feels familiar.

Say, “Goodnight.”

Shattered

Taunted 

by the gently-creaking 

swing set,

you are reminded

that once you were a child.

            Your tears

         are unlike any
          I have heard:

   The soft, racking sound

     of breaking dreams

            shatters 
        the darkness

            that

f
  a
    l
   l
 s

to

pieces

at our feet.

Choosing Anywhere

She opened her eyes wide, took a good look around, and found that she was living in the middle of who she was and who she wanted to become. It was very confusing, realizing that she was suddenly dispossessed of hard-earned self-knowledge. Becoming is a process, a lasting process, and while she had a vision in mind, neither did she want to stifle possibilities as she avidly pursued her path to Somewhere. She found herself wondering how to change the pattern, how to change her mind, how to renew her soul. She found herself reconsidering her friends, an imperfect man, her apartment, her job, her city, her choices. 

Eyes-wide-shut, with a leap of faith, she discovered she was capable of living. She figured it was possible to renegotiate Love. She found that it might be acceptable to relinquish Love in favor of the real thing, vole or ovel or evol(ve) - whatever that might be, however that might happen. She allowed herself to be jealous, to be annoyed, to be irate...to be calm, to find happiness, to feel free. Not necessarily in that order. She allowed herself to B. Existing is half the battle. Being herself, she discovered, is the other half. Being still, being free, being faithful. Being alive, alive and well. 

Unwilling to live in-between, she discovered what it means to Create. Creation does not have to be a battle. She threw herself, head-first, into the light, rejecting the path to Nowhere, deviating from her path to Somewhere, and choosing Anywhere.  

Playing Pretend

Tinkerbell

flits in and out,

lighting up a room with magic,

helping the lost boys pretend

to be more than they are:

Swashbucklers,

students,

the stars of food fights,

children of Wendy -

a child herself.

Tink creates a world

in which magic is key

and, without it,

the boys would feel

utterly

bereft.

It’s not Tink’s fault

that Peter can’t see her,

blinded by Wendy

who brings

her own kind of magic.

Sometimes she knows

that most people don’t

believe in fairies,

but usually Tinkerbell is, 

once again, surprised;

who wouldn’t

notice the small one

who lights up a room?

But Peter doesn’t see her,

and you know what they say:

Seeing is Believing. 

Who Wraps Easter Presents?

Crap.

It would seem I am

 stuck.

I did not think

I would find myself

here again,

past

between

future

(which is quite silly, really) 

I try to outwit the present, daily,

but whoever wrapped this damn thing

did an excellent job

it’s one of those gifts,

like those trick candles that

manage to revive no matter

how hard you blow

(how does that happen?)

 layers and layers of

striped purple paper

green polka dots sprinkled on light pink,

flying fairies for dreaming princesses,

dancing Santas wishing me an unseasonable Merry Christmas

Easter Bunnies hopping ecstatically

(who wraps Easter presents? That’s what the plastic eggs are for)

and -sigh- finally,

a box!

It contains another box, smaller this time,

brown, cardboard, a tease.

You have to be kidding.

I thought I had gotten to the heart of the matter.

Apologies, I digress.