Never have I feared losing
my shadow, it was always
the fear of sewing it back
to my toes, Wendy’s sharp needles
piercing Peter Pan’s flesh with
silk thread, but my greater fear was
my mother rooting around at night in
my brain, to tidy my thoughts like
endless loads of laundry folded into
mind drawers, I was afraid she would
see the shadow parts of myself I kept
hidden from her, my anger stuffed into
forgotten corners that she would not see
beyond happy facades, I did not want to
trigger explosions that would rock the boat we
sailed together, wasn’t I grateful for the
sacrifices she had made without any
apologies? It was easier to place my anger in
Neverland where I could lock it tight as a sacred
treasure chest, sink it beneath waves where it
would be safe from those who might steal it,
accessible only by mermaids, who would marvel at
how the anger glimmered when it touched
the light.
