Of Virginia and Jack…

Once upon a time: Two fairy tales.

I.

Virginia and the Wolf

She’s so sick of me, still

I stick to her like a growth.

I know she’s been

hating me, ever since I

wormed my way into her.

268 days and 11 hours – nesting,

eating away her laughter, the snow

white of her skin, the blood

red of her lips, the ebony black of her hair –

now all she is: limestone and brittle.

I’m the reason he

left her, she says, I’m the

reason he left, even though she

tried to drown him with her

salty tears, the entire Dead Sea.

You wanted to kill him, Virginia –

almost as much as you wanted to

kill me – and when you couldn’t

you wanted to drown yourself.

What were you afraid of, Virginia?

You carry around these

heavy stones. What are you

afraid of – are you afraid of the Wolf?

Afraid he will catch you on your way back

home while you’re blinded by luna.

There’s no Wolf under your bed –

he sleeps in it. Did you forget

you let him in?

Say, what are you afraid of, Virginia?

I can’t tell.

I used to think the woods

were home to miracles and fairy

godmothers, speaking trees full

of wisdom. Now I know what’s

really hiding in the thicket.

I clutch my basket – it’s

filled with cake and wine and

black roses. I’m leaving, Virginia,

I’m leaving you alone.

I let go now.

You can have the room all

to yourself, I won’t come back.

Now, will you tell me your secret?

What are you really afraid of, Virginia?

Because all I know is –

I am afraid of the Wolf.


II.

On the Road

(Dear Jack)

Out of the dust, a cough –

Freedom.

It soon dies away.

Following into the footsteps of

the great lady, desperately holding up

a little dignity and belief, a lighter.

Finding these faded letters

someone must have lost down the way –

Freedom.

Struggling through curtains, tightly knit, iron-threaded

and then this brick wall, each crack a whisper –

Freedom.

Sinking the enemy’s ship, no one owns me and

this time it’s a different kind of party, pure porcelain singing –

Freedom.

Taking over my seat in the bus, it is mine.

Tires boast –

Freedom.

Crossing oceans and oceans, running after a fire

that burns like hell, the heavens on judgement day –

Freedom.

Staggering, a fallen angel, cut off wings and in search of

a new paradise somewhere between now and then –

Freedom.

Out of the dust, a cough –

Freedom.

It flickers.

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One response

  1. Can you believe I googled this because it’s so good I wanted to know who wrote it?

    I’m so dumb.

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