Sample from Witch Boy
The golden rays of the late afternoon disappeared in the hallway of branches and shrubbery. He had to prove to himself that despite what the boys in town said, he was no mouse. He tripped over roots and stones, taking scrapes to his face and rips to his sweater but a stubborn willfulness took him to the end. The forest spit him out into a puddle, drenching him in the mud. Overwhelmed with frustration and discomfort, he wept. He was alone in this dark clearing and he felt utterly cold and small.
When he wiped away his tears, Kit was almost certain his journey into life the depths of the forest landed him in a dream. Like an illustration from his books, a house with its own garden, stood before him. Kit forgot all about his soaked clothes, the boys from town, and his loneliness. He started creeping his way around the structure. Within the house he saw a mess of magical objects.
the Dreamers and me
In my small life I only saw rain
until the rainbow gave me its hope.
I chased the rainbow for miles
with its connection in my heart.
As an ignorant child, I understood myself and took faith in my journey.
Just when I had grown into new shoes,
the sun pierced all the way through the clouds
and dissolved the misty atmosphere
that I had grown accustomed to.
With just the sun and I,
It occurred to me that I was
lost in the prairie
where happy little bluebirds
had long ago fled over my lost rainbow.
I stood in the grass to catch my breath.
I intellectualized the journey thus far.
Time went by and I was busy exploring my mind
Then the sky darkened.
The lost light of my rainbow turned my soul into stone.
And as suddenly as the connection evaporated and the darkness came,
thirty nine different ribbons of chroma dropped out of the sky like banners of strength.
Each rainbow, their own shape, appeal, and journey.
Their grandeur paralyzed me where I stood
still lost.
I saw nothing but directions,
the shoes I outgrew,
the bruises on my feet
the cotton in my mouth.
And the prairie grasses
of my fears, indecision and self-doubt
grew above my swollen feet and over my eyes.
The sky stole my tears.
I could no longer see or walk.
So I made the grasses my home
and called myself a lover, a dreamer.
The rain soaks my face with its cruelty.
And scornfully, I think—
rainbows are visions
they’re only illusions.
And when the green blades of my home tear my skin and stain my shoes,
I sing myself to sleep—
“If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can’t I?”