It’s in that far away place

marked,  “Open Upon Receipt.”

And it comes to you—a door

floating in the air, and settles down

near the bed.  You get up and go through.

 It flies backwards and backwards, tumbling, like

a memory you’d rather relive

than remember. 

When it stops, you open it,

careful not to wake the sleeping giant

hunched over in his chair. 

But there’s a golden quill pen in his hand. 

Sure, you’re small.

You could sail in a walnut shell

if you had to.  So what? 

He won’t stay sleeping forever.

And there’s entire villages of pages

waiting to hear word

of what happens next.

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog