We sat around the oval kitchen table
and made hats out of ribbons
and paper plates, and we piled them high
with golden grapes and fake flowers.
I remember thinking how great, how magic it was
that something we’d use for dinner
transformed into something so elegant.
Today I stared hard at a paper plate,
as if I could return to that state of delight
and easy grace. Was this how Cinderella felt
when she gazed at the pumpkin the day
after the ball? Wondering if the magic
happened at all? Weighing the shape
of reality against her dream?
Yes, I tell myself, it was real,
the glittering fruit, the beauty I felt,
the laughter around the table.
And it was a dream, the way my parents
made it seem as if we had it all.
And when the clock struck midnight,
none of the magic left at all.
Wow! This is very beautiful!
thank you … it was sweet to remember that time, how those moments feed us.
Pink Light Sabre recommend you based on a lovely photo that apparently came from your work with river rocks. I’ll be happy to look forward to more poetic geology. Plus, lovely odes to paper plates and whimsy and magic.
what a fun note, thank you! I do like to write poems on rocks! And about just about everything … thanks so much for joining the conversation!