Through the eyes of a child

 

As a child, my dark green eyes saw a story in everything. The can of peas my mother put back on the shelf after changing her mind at the grocery store, it would weep for her change of heart. I would say a silent prayer that someone might choose it soon, end it’s suffering. Please, for another customer, let that can be “the one”.

My nightly bath in a beige vinyl tub was always a perilous adventure, and I, a mermaid in the eye of a storm would dive for pearls in a vortex of Mr. Bubble sea foam.

The small grey rabbit that would visit our backyard and forage through the garden, he was a cleverly disguised time traveler. Making his appearance through the worm hole that I’d hidden behind the birch trees on the side yard. We’d speak in a hushed language only known to us. Suddenly, he’d glance at his invisible pocket watch and vanish back to the alternative universe from whence he came. I always missed him.

 

 

a.duncan, 2016

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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