She tells me
she wants to
go home,
looking angelic
for a moment
then wickedly
smiling and
drawing me
near, she whispers
“they will never
know our secrets
not in one hundred
years”, she never
fears, for this is
the age of mystic
mind paths
she returns to
her childhood
and speaks for
hours to her
parents, being
scolded often
and crying out,
we listen from
the hallway in
wonder, her
journey is coming
to an end,(at least
this is what they
say), but each
day reforms the
last, the present
mixed in with
the past, a strange
soup of joy and
whimsy, she is
only sorry for what
she has not done,
pleading the 5th
about the mysterious
adventures she will
take to heaven,
holding court
with the angels
and perhaps the
less than perfect,
one moment from
now, or next week,
she will be there
and I will be here,


©J.W.WINSLOW 12/1/11