Empty

do you see where eternity ends

did you know that you were my friend

this planet a box that holds me

A Window to the World

September 21, 2003, California

It should be about her life here as much about her experiences there.

A misunderstanding

When I lost my travel book centuries ago

burned the ancient forest where

you were my favorite tree

You are the reality I cannot close in on

what flew through my hair that I

             mistook for permanency          

Tomorrow is Crying for You (Pt. 5)

I woke still tucked between the sweaters, and still, to my disappointment, very tiny.  A quick check confirmed the presence of fairy wings.   I risked a small peek outside of the drawer, but nothing in the room had changed.  The lamp glowed softly, the faded flower-printed covers of the double bed remained untouched.

As I emerged from the drawer I realized I had no idea how long I’d slept.   The endless twilight had not given way to dawn—it never did.  That hadn’t seemed to matter the other times I’d visited, but now it left me cold.  I wanted to know how long I’d been in this room—or at least to believe that the clock was ticking down on this fairy fantasy, and that soon I would wake up somewhere else.

Try as I might, though, I could find no clock.  In low spirits I left the room, the quiet now beginning to stifle me.  Yet it seemed unwise to make my own noise, so I flew in almost total silence back to the restaurant, hoping to discover Marietta this time.

Diary entry, March 2014

But I can’t.  I can’t because I'm afraid.  The stories come to me in dreams and haunt me.  They refuse translation.  I am afraid.  I don’t want anyone to know me.  I don’t want anyone to know anything.  I don’t want to know myself.

Saint Margaret

Oh, yes, the dragon replies,

I shielded you

But then the closet nearly

burned down with you

in it

If you are ready to speak

the riddle

we are waiting

we are in no hurry

but I am not mistaken

you know the words

you deny them

I no longer deny you

Haunted

"If you could never go back to your world, what would you miss most?"

Josie thought of Jack and her mother; of her aunt; of how it felt to stand barefoot on the cool driveway pavement early on a summer morning.  "Pumpkin bread," she answered.

"Pumpkin bread," the King repeated.  "What is pumpkin bread?"

"Something worth missing."

The King wondered why Josie's smile seemed so sad.  But this time he did not ask.