playroom 



i have four and twenty blackbirds but

i am lacking the pie

when i asked my neighbor for ingredients     i 

discovered that in the cupboard of her mind

the flour had maggots and the butter was rancid

i thought perhaps to ask the ubiquitous figure jack

but as he was busy on a beanstalk i

quickly changed my mind. 



my yearning is the foundation of 

the house that jack did not build

this is the church and this is the steeple

when you open the door	you

wonder why there aren’t any people.



this is the picture that i hung on the walls

that are made of wood from the forest where 

hansel and gretal were tragically rejected 

jack may be nimble and jack may be quick   but 

with his broken crown from falling down

in a reckless search for his maiden jill 

he ignited my house with his candlestick



these are my tears that melted into the floor

that sat atop the foundation of my wanting 

i have four and twenty blackbirds and

a house that jack burned but did not build

i have no pie but i love to bake and i am a much nicer

witch than the one who kept hansel in a cage

i offer these gifts like mother goose proffered her tales

and i am certain that if you opened my colorful cover

you’d be enchanted by my fable

in the playroom that could be our treasure

my pages are crisp and the pictures are dazzling

why then	 am i gathering dust	    isolated upon a shelf?