Evil Fairy

Imagining beyond…

Was it the grand jeté,
The matinee snapshot memory,
White sinuous grace slicing the air,
Filling the audience with awe?

Perhaps it was simplicity,
A seated artist on the sidewalks of winter,
Fingerless gloves protecting,
Yet allowing purpose to spring free,
A brush of color embellishing a canvas,
Brightening the otherwise bleak
Gray surrounding of concrete sidewalks,
And bundle-clad pedestrians scurrying by.

Of course…

It might have been inside a warmer MOMA,
Watching a child astride a bench
Before Monet's Water Lilies,
Mesmerized,
Dangling feet barely touching the floor,
Eyes intent,
Blinking not.

Later…

Might it have been the actor's performance,
Morphing the make-believe character
Into one's own mirror of self-discovery,
Retching the painful,
The undeniable?

Walking home…

The street's late-night icy mist
Reflected on spirited windows up high,
Amber to the blinding white light of nocturnal restlessness,
Alive, yet in need of rest,
Sleep's escape/defense remaining elusive,

Seemingly out of reach.

For those of the creative risk…

Alone behind fortressed walls,
The night awakens connection
Beckons different light,
First by moonlight,
Then by dying candle flame.

Enigmatic partners enjoin lucid dreams,
Childhood's innocence personified,
Inspiration-liaisons made real,

As need ignores want,
Inordinate fragments march forward
Ignoring insistent obstacles

With droning resolve,

So loud this languorous persistence
Is never heard.

Yes…

One can escape the “oh, so innocent” evil fairy of childhood,
The parental crowing screech of words,
The cackling refrain one no longer need heed…

"You are ordinary."