Neverland’s Shore

sunlit daylily

 

Only in the Shadowlands,

that vaguely recalled dream-world

which disappears without trace

upon awakening to

the feel of flannelette stamped

on skin, the lunches to pack,

the chaos to realign –

only in her fantasies

does he hold her like this, arms

cradling her curves, head leaning

in hungry. She’ll function with

smiles through meetings and play-dates

and meal-plans and lists, but when

the shadows grow long and sleep

sings its lullabies, her heart

will wander barefoot that well-

worn path to Neverland’s shore.

 

What She Saw

frilly daylily

 

A daylily, ruffled and still

with folds of fresh linen (freshly

made bed) soaking up sunshine on

laundry-day line. She paused there, caught

helplessly on its anthers, struck

by the glory that withered while

she watched. ‘Why bother?’ she asked no

one in particular. Leaning

in, she traced the petticoats, breathed

deep of Arabian nights, veiled

virgins dancing on memory’s

edge. Eloquence beckoned on pale

finger with nail painted purple,

folding to hide philosopher’s

stone. Time passed. Conquerors and kings

and sleeping beauties, history

and fantasy, who she could be

in the morrow swayed and unfurled

in complex rhythms and secret

whispers. Her back straightened, rigid

barrier, and, closing her eyes,

she walked blindly back to the house.