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.
