A peach room, powder
pink wallpaper with cream colored
thread gently weaving a pattern.
The mind must seat itself
upon that vanity.
Leather-bound poetry book
in hand, some whimsy, magical mystery––
love for life, flowing out:
a creek in the fairy garden.
Chasing a chorus of silver sirens
that dive in the dark green waters,
Tinsel and tinny twinkles beat fast
with the fierce drummer boys on the hill,
The crickets furrow their brows,
creating a weeping violin choir––
everyone in town gathers,
to greet the sun’s morning majesty.
Swimming in the deep lagoon,
I close my eyes,
you take my hand and I’m there.
We are together, the two of us
a pair of mythical, spellbinding sisters
sailing toward the hopeful horizon,
a Fountain of Youth,
where their wands make pixie dust,
and the tails glisten in the true blue.
an escapist’s kindest dream
as simple as steaming apple pie,
or light eclair––
the kind of bedtime stories you gave to me.
By Kathryn Smith
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