No! No! No!
She savagely denied
The news that this
It was Nana’s letterhead;
There was no mistaking it;
The jasmine scent, embossed
Seal, the handwriting.
Who would do this to her?
Who could be so cruel? Nana…
Sweet Nana had gone missing;
Declared dead and mourned.
They all moved on – not her;
She hung on wrapping tendrils of
Memory around many a wine glass;
Vines of bittersweet thought
And sorrow. The will. They all
Hated her for it – Nana left it
All to her, the clueless grandchild
In everyone’s eye. She hated them.
The air above the envelop shimmered
Catching her eye just so – perhaps
Just perhaps she allows herself to
Hope – perhaps Nana never died and
It was all a test and she, she wanted
Her back – the only one to have passed
The test – Yes, yes this had to be it
Were her thoughts as she tore it open.
This has been hard on you, sweet child.
The others do not understand what it
Means to be a Fairstrider. You do,
I have watched you since the day you were born.
Outside with you, Cassie. Go to our swing.
Are you sitting down now? Not now, dear one.
Go on, sit. You think I am here watching you.
I am not. I know you. We are of the same mold.
We, the Fairstriders, tend to the gardens of thought.
Not just yours and mine. All thought. We keep the
Soils fertile. We grow the muses on a tree. Some
Will be drawn to words. Some will be drawn to art.
A rare few would be drawn to poetry. Look about you.
Do you see the shimmer? The faintest of glimmers off
To the north east? Yes, that’s the muses growing thirsty.
Don’t hold back or there will be many a poet’s block.
Go out now. Mix and mingle. Laugh and giggle. They know
Pain. Teach them laughter. They know hurt. Teach them love.
They are shy and a skittish bunch. Socialize them.
Befriend them till they can earn a human’s trust.
Before her eyes, the letter disintegrated into glitter;
Falling playfully away from fingers, she could not
Resist the smile as she heard them call out
“Look over there! It’s the human muse, herself!”