When Peter Forgot to Fly

Sometimes I dream that somewhere,

far past the first star on the right,

and long, long after morning,

we lived without devouring each other.

That if we made it through Neverland

we could outgrow Wendy Darling and Peter Pan,

surviving our own narcissistic tendencies,

swimming through our separate pools of trauma,

To meet each other, accountable, on the other side

But this isn’t sometimes, or somewhere.

This is here. This is now.

We’ve had our adventures,

scarier than pirates,

more beautiful than flying with fairy dust.

But there are only so many times

flowers of transgressions

can bloom in this garden under my feet

before going to seed,

and I am beginning to think the best I can do

is let the memories of past adventures sleep.

The last time Peter saw Wendy

he barely recognized her age lines.

The names “Hook” and “Tinkerbell”

hung unrecognized in the air,

nemeses and friends long forgotten.

And even then she responded

“I could be your mother, if you wanted…

sew your shadow on when it runs away,

offer you this room to call your own.”

The little white bird once told me

“Forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past”

But I can never decide if I should forgive the pirate, the fairies,

or you, and spend days in my head falling into stars,

Only to wake up and remember

there are no pirates or fairies here

and Peter only kept promises to mermaids.

In the end, Peter kissed his darling on the cheek

and jumped out the window,

forgetting to lift his arms and fly.