Fairytales and Dustballs
by M.J. King

Sometimes the light hits the sky
like moonbeams scattering fairy dust.
Sometimes, but not very often,
we look up and take time to notice.
I wanted to slay dragons and save princes,
but instead I wash clothes, again!
I listen to bored people create tragedies,
always searching for those fairytales.
I dust the furniture every week,
the same dust, the same motion.
I rush through work, money for my time
so I can buy groceries, only
to work them off at the local gym.
I petition for the Apartheid in Afghanistan,
not really free since those women aren’t.
I do it again for animals in Gombe,
children in the Appalachian Mountains,
wishing for some magic, some fairy Godmother
to save the world, just the world!
I grocery shop on Tuesdays, go to church on Easter,
and hope for peace on Christmas.
I cry for my birthdays, size 8 jeans,
Oil of Olay and thicker glasses.
I worry about not having children, having children,
and other people’s children.
I miss college, my grandparents
and the way I used to have my entire life ahead of me.

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