In my fairy tale life
my friend would never
have hung herself.
My other friend would have
survived the self-inflicted
bullet she shot through her brain.
We would still visit, share stories,
write letters, laugh and cry together,
but for them, death was the answer.
In my fairy tale life
there are paths to healing,
ways to change: methods, healers,
potions, tinctures, infusions, hope.
There is the next meal out,
the next dream to explore,
mysteries to solve, beauty
and wonder for what will the next
day will bring, even on the worst days
there is curiosity, awareness
that everything changes: angels,
and fairies are possible. What
happened that made them give up
a life of potentiality, to know such
finality, to vanish miracles.
Julene Tripp Weaver has a
psychotherapy practice in Seattle. Her two poetry books are No Father
Can Save Her and Case Walking: An AIDS Case Manager Wails Her
Blues, writing from her work through the heart of the AIDS epidemic. She is
widely published in journals and anthologies. She can be found online at www.julenetrippweaver.com
and Twitter @trippweavepoet.
