Molly Grue

I was rosy-cheeked, with sparkling eyes

when I was eight years old.

I danced, feeling the swirl

of imaginary gowns around my ankles.

I almost thought I saw you then,

until adult voices called out

to tell me about chores left undone.

There was still gold in my hair at sixteen.

But I swayed to different songs,

of 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 don’t know.

I know that I tried not to believe,

as sixteen faded into the distance,

as 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

and 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 own sobbing?

Am I to start believing again

when the world has almost finished its job

of convincing me that faith is pointless,

and magic isn’t real?

I suppose,

since the world has done an incomplete job,

I will try to trust in what my eyes and heart see,

and start dancing again. 

Still from the movie The Last Unicorn

Song Choice: I'm Not That Girl by Idina Menzel

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.