Molly Grue

I had rosy-cheeks and sparkling eyes

when I was eight years old.

I loved to dance, feeling the swirl

of imaginary gowns around my ankles.

I almost thought I saw you then,

until adult voices called me out

to tell me about chores left undone.

There was still gold in my hair at sixteen.

But I swayed to different songs,

all about moonlight promises that I knew

would evaporate faster than dew.

Did believing in you 

make me more gullible

to frivolous songs 

sung by unskilled bards?

I know that I tried not to believe,

as sixteen faded into the distance,

and gold turned the color of the dishwater

I had my hands in every day.

Disappointment makes an excellent whetstone

for a tongue that wants to hide a tender heart,

still moved by tales of legendary bandits, 

still intrigued by a magician’s words.

Then you arrived,

to fan the cinder of my belief,

when the bags under my eyes

were more noticeable than my lashes.

How could I not scream at you,

for all those times I needed wonder,

looked for it, and all I found

was the sound of my stubborn heartbeat?

Should I start believing again

when the world has almost convinced me

that faith is pointless,

and magic isn’t real?

But,

since the world has done an incomplete job,

I will try to trust 

in what my eyes see

and my heart knows,

and start dancing again. 

Still from the movie The Last Unicorn

Song Choice: Shake It Out by Florence and the Machine

Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem was inspired by a prompt (I came up with!) over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Sidekicks in the Spotlight. I based it on a character from the cult classic, The Last Unicorn.