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.