Reality Check

Lying on my side in the moss,
surrounded by trees of an unknown origin,
curled around the life inside me,
I discover I am not,
in fact,
pregnant with a vampire,
despite what the witch
with the long, blonde hair
told me before she effervesced.

Within seconds,
I have found my way out of the woods,
and I walk by a decrepit pool,
oddly surrounded by extended family members,
and find myself locked in a bathroom
with a boy named Avery,
and, as it is with these kinds of things,
I know without a doubt
that we are too young to be kissing
and it will only lead us astray.

Under the light grey sky that promises rain,
I sit at a desk outdoors and call the wrong name,
but the boy who seems to love me appears anyway
and reminds me of his real name,
much like the tales of Rumpelstiltskin;
he walks from the bathroom,
along the pool edge,
toward the outdoor desk
with promises in his eyes.
 
Jauntily strolling along 1st Ave,
greeted by Lil' Frankie's chalkboard,
"I can still taste you when we're apart,"
(who is in charge of those messages?!)
dancing through the music permeating
the park, blasted by SMAC,
I place my hand on my stomach,
seized by the vaguely discomfiting
memory of a disappearing witch,
relieved by reality
as the sun beats down
promising a new day
free from walking dreams.