Before

Real Life Fairytale




'Life was hard," my father used to say

And we'd settle in our chairs

To repeat word for word

That same tale



His brows would furrow

His arms, hanging in mid air

Waiting for his words to weave

That well worn spell



We'd nod sympathetically

And gasp in all the right places

As that familiar scene played

Of an age long gone



When children waded creeks

In tattered shoes

When mothers clambered over

Week old news

Penned by their absent lovers

On precious papers

'It was a lean year', we'd nod

They were lean years



‘At times, we were so tired

So wearied’

His voice would fade accordingly

And within his eyes

We'd see the end of the story

As a glimmer of fire

Embers, chokes and dies

His arms now resting

Placated on his seat

While the ashes of his world melt away



We watched has he shrugged his years back on

As though time himself had wearied and slowed

Too wizened to attempt following

What had been new a minute ago





We'd sit for awhile more

Perfectly still,

Lest we speed the dissipating film

Grasping vainly for tendrils of smoke

That rose from ourselves

As they curled up to the ceiling and faded



In perfect cue my mother would shout

The time, followed by a jolt

That catapulted us off to bed

Where we would dream of snowy fields

Golden wheat and winter chills

Grass eating stoves on old stone mills

Our wispy sighs hidden behind wistful smiles