somewhere the other side of brigadoon

somewhere, it's like dancing. the little click clack, click clack of 
keystrokes and backstrokes and the other miscellaneous chess moves of some 
stranger in black, some stranger in blue, some stranger on the other side 
of the world scribbling little electronic love notes and sending me 
storms, earthquakes, torenadoes, a basketfull of natural disasters...pick 
a picture and a postcard and a pocket...it might be the fever, but i don't 
think so...curled up on the couch in my nest of blankets dotted with cozy 
kittens and on sale in the media world for $19.95 plus tax...close the 
eyes, under the wings, he's there, with his arms around me, and his lips 
in my hair, a soft kiss on the forehead "and you're going to be alright, 
girl, you're going to be alright..."

i know i am going to be alright.

maybe it doesn't take a genius to figure something out, or somethings out, 
but here, watching water dance in a celestial founatin and lapping the 
concrete edges with a soft laughter that sometimes i can imitate, with my 
toes curled under and little locks of frizzy hair asking to be washed if 
only i could shift my muscles in any position but this, being fetal...but 
balls are neat, especially yarn, and i'm not ready to forget yet...i have 
a nose. and toes. ten of them, little pigs in the blanket (never did like 
that dish too much, even if my grandmother did make it.) so here i am, 
traveling down the freeway with hands outstretched, laughing at insistant 
radio station and crying at the sad songs...and maybe i'm just beginning 
to remember. there is an angel on the other side of the world, of the 
mirror, of the screen, who loves me as much as more, and we could sleep 
for a hundred years, and we could dance on distant worlds and curb runaway 
stars and keep the earth comfy and safe and all toasty warm...streak of 
lightning, crash, a car alarm goes off, and scribbling in my rouge-stained 
book i watch the sky crack and crumble and chicken little only 
laughs...heyoka on the train tracks, fightning pirates and sailing ships 
across the eastern sky, come on, all it takes is faith and trust...oh and 
one thing i forgot. dust. dust? yep. just a little bit of pixie dust. and 
they always wonder why peter pan was played by a girl. we can be just as 
lost as any of the boys, perhaps loster still...and then there's 
brigadoon, in kilts, in peticoats, with bagpipes calling on a wedding 
song, with tears, with hopes, it all kind of fades into the mist after a 
while...unless you believe. love can make miracles happen, it can make the 
impossible possible, love, incarnate...love in devon's clothes, dancing 
through memories...yes, they were there, the god of cats and the scarecrow 
and all of the ones i held so dear to my heart...but sometimes we must 
leave our safe places and walk empty-handed among our enemies. alice to be 
plunged in the asphalt world, but it is necessary, like everything else, 
like love, and i'm tired of hiding...let the hurricanes do what they 
will--i'm not afraid. they can only tear my clothes loose or my skin cloak 
to shreds...i'll always be living. dreaming, here, sometimes in the arms 
of my angel. my angel with his golden locks a halo and walking among 
strangers who belong to those he's always loved and always will 
challenging them to chess games and he always wins, you know, he'll never 
lose, not even once. there is glitter sprinkled all over the world 
tonight, and this smile that grows wider and wider as my fever gets higher 
and the pain causes my nose to ache...picture frames and photographs, all 
in suspended animation...i will not worry. this is life, this is real, and 
if ever i would crawl inside snail shells and underneath mushrooms, i'm 
through with that. here is devon, like it or not. if she trips over your 
shoes, she'll apologize, but you really shouldn't have left them there 
right out in the open...enough with eggshells, we need to save them for 
easter. it's the beginning of spring, half an eternity past the ides of 
march, almost a forever, and i will sleep for a thousand and so years and 
it will only be a day, i swear, just my angel and me, dancing in walmarts 
and playing video games and having picnics at midnight under his tree and 
watching him play chess while i make cartoon characters with the 
pieces...me making soap operas with spoons in his chinese resturants, his 
chicken and fried rice, our yarn all tangled up and tied in, and what am i 
going to do with all this string anyway? i should have a song upon my 
return, a new one. a beginning. it's only spring. and almost forever.