That there was a portal in my closet to

another world,

and that my mother’s washing machine

was haunted.

 

And that we were all assigned

guardian angels

who balanced

precariously

on treetops

watching over us at

every hour. And

when you heard your name in a crowd

and spun around to find

no one,

it was, in fact, one of them,

speaking – by accident –

out loud.

 

And that taxidermied heads blinked in the

floating dust of attics and basements.

That autumn trees turned colour because,

like everything,

there was something inside them

that was on fire,

and that their blushing with it

simply smouldered

into ignition.

 

Once upon a time

I believed in science, too.

That questions were posed

to be answered. That

conviction

was a strength.

                                                                                                                  ->

 

 

 

I Used To Believe

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