Fantastical Origin
Early aspirations to become a speculative fiction writer
By Blaise Published 3 years ago • 1 min read
Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash
Summers spent pretending that I'm magic.
Running through ruins, finding blue eggshells,
cicada skins or a slingshot-shaped stick.
Ripping up lilacs, enjoying the smells.
I find a rim piece from a flowerpot
in the park and make it an amulet,
tied around my neck with a sailor's knot.
Write our pretend game to remember it.
Look for the Big Dipper or Mars at night.
Reading tea leaves from my doll's empty cup.
I hold my hand over my bright flashlight,
secret reading, scared parents know I'm up.
Older still, writing a fairy story,
imagine that world to escape worry.
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