OverTheRainbow

The pages

of the old storybook

(you know the one, with its gilded cover depicting

the never-changing silvery palace

set against the sunset

Flowers

poems

are the souls

of long-forgotten flowers.

Whispers

poems

Cinderella fit the shoe

perfect-porcelain white-lotus-petal feet

slipping ever so gently into delicate glass slippers

apparently made just for her

by the handsome prince (he has no name)

It was dawn in the forest. The sun was just waking up, yawning and blinking her dew-soaked eyelashes in a sky painted with perfect, watery brushstrokes of yellow, orange, and lavender interspersed with wispy blush-colored clouds.

January loves April,  

her silken white dress with its icy tint of blue sinking into  

April’s lime green skirt, buds and baby leaves rupturing its stitches, 

Dear five-year-old me,

you are in kindergarten right now.

You are going to meet your absolute best friend in just a little while -

or maybe you already have.

Either way, remember to be kind to her.