And as the demon prison is opened,
it’s already half past ten, and my daughter
and I have already read an hour past her bedtime,
but the demon prison is open, and so
I promise just ten more minutes, but then,
at ten forty, our hero is clashing swords
with the demon who betrayed him
and so we read on to the demon’s demise.
Just yesterday I spoke with a friend
who told me she thought about killing herself.
We sat in the garden surrounded by cosmos
and overly abundant chard.
Life is not like the book where we know
there will be a happy ending,
which makes it harder
to want to turn the page.
Tonight, when we put down the book,
just as the next demon taunts
our hero, we turn off the lights
and feel the giddiness of the battle
pulsing through our bodies.
We giggle too loud and shudder
beyond our control. It is difficult
to find enough peace in ourselves
to welcome sleep.
How we long to turn just one more page,
just one more page.
May we always find reasons
to go on, believing that
something good is about to happen.
I may not believe in happy endings,
but I do believe in happiness,
the way it finds us when we least
expect it. Like the zinnia in my garden
that for months has looked shriveled and dead
since a spring frost, and just today,
after the big rains,
formed four green leaves.
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