And she takes the book waiting on the shelf,
smelling of milk, toothpaste and goodnight kisses,
it's pages cracked, worn thin with birthday wishes,
wearing wrinkles wizened by the layers of fingerprints
that traced the silk of mama's voice on every word.

She turns to find him all tucked up in bed,
head cushioned by a mop of curly hair,
arms clutching tight a tattered teddy bear.
His sleepy eyes draw her to his side
and she leans in another once upon a time.

Her voice kisses the curve of every word,
calling to life a world she has to see,
moulding reality to what it ought to be;
a place with swings, slides and just five minutes more ,
sighs breathed to birth a need held deep inside.

A land where all the games are fair,
with candy houses but no cavities in sight,
where all evil is banished by the light.
The winds of time are soothed and still
listening to the clicks of a clock that never stops ticking.

Her child's eyes flutter to dance in dreams of his own
and the bedtime lies shatter behind her eyes.
It's not her son longing for a land where no one dies.
Children are borne of pixie dust and shooting stars
to a world of wonder built for each alone .

Once upon a time is a prayer whispered by mama's at night
to restrain the hurts and horrors of the earth
with the soul wrenching fear she's felt since she gave birth.
See she has to believe in forever and a day
for her love for her son is growing all the while.

She has to believe in love and life and laughter.
She has to hold close the hope of
happily
ever
after.

you said you’d come for a coffee, but wouldn’t let me pay,
polite like a movie, then you slipped away.
Didn’t know you had someone, guess that’s how it goes.
Timing is a trickster, everybody knows.
It’s the law of irony, when hearts don’t check availability. But I won’t regret what I tried to do, It’s just a page, not the whole book through.
So here’s to letters and almost maybe, to the timing gods and their little maybes.

Come back
to the moment.
Which one?

Yesterday,
the day before—
the sun was always brighter,
remember?

Come back
to the moment.
When?

Years ago,
I don’t even know.
The grass is greener
in memory than in the soil.

Come back
to the moment
when my mind saw a world
pristine and unraveled,
ready to be walked.

Please, come back,
little boy I once was.
Come back to the summer scent
on your skin,
and the raspberry taste
on your lips.

Yes—then.

Come back,
but don’t stay.


[Another recurrence of The Unwritten—spilled as art.
Raw expressions from an overwhelmed mind, and a trickster heart.]