Writing for the necessity of joy and the joy of necessity...
Once a year, for seven years, I watched
terrified by the tornado and snatching trees,
baffled by Dorothy walking all that way
without eating, and not once needing
to use the bathroom.
When older, I withstood the flying monkeys
by repeating - it's only a movie - under my breath,
imagining a film crew, a director with megaphone
just off screen. Still I speculated
they must have fitted her with a special pouch.
Only later did I learn how we turn off the camera,
walk away, reappear in new scenes,
clicking our heels and starting over,
as if anything can happen.
(first published in Adanna: Women and Art, 2016)