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A few days ago I was on the phone with my sister, telling her a true-life tale from a few months ago. She started laughing so hard she had a coughing fit (always my goal). Then she turned quiet.
“I bet it wasn’t funny when it happened, was it, Allie?” Nope. But making unfunny things funny is a way to transcend what really happened. That child with a book in her treehouse, in her hay fort, in her room with a flashlight: she was me. She’s still me, making up people who take everything that’s too hard about being alive and somehow make it manageable. The older brother I always wanted, the high school boyfriend I never had, the woman who’s the me I want to be, they rise up from my keyboard every morning, saving my life like always.
Moon in the Window, by Dorianne Laux
I wish I could say I was the kind of child
who watched the moon from her window,
would turn toward it and wonder.
I never wondered. I read. Dark signs
that crawled toward the edge of the page.
It took me years to grow a heart
from paper and glue. All I had
was a flashlight, bright as the moon,
a white hole blazing beneath the sheets.
Click here for more information about wondrous poet Dorianne Laux.
Alison McGhee 
Beloved Alison McGhee
*I am sharing above what I shared on WhatsApp and Facebook this morning.
The Poem of The Week is BEAUTIFUL. I was the child that wondered. And
young woman, too.
*
I wanted that Fairy Tale life.
It is here.
*Perhaps we will meet someday. But not in the Zoom room…
In love, with love, for love
Shamla of Shamballa
*
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I love both this poem and the connection you had to it. Thanks for sharing.
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