to George MacDonald and all who never learned

to George MacDonald and all who never learned

Our feet descended from couch to spattered carpet.

How quickly the world lost its rhythm—we learned, 

while young, the movie-magic dissipates.

We tasted it in quests, in castles of our own 

behind the house—real life—but even then

the call for lunch reminded us our swords 

were crooked sticks.

                     
      If only we could find 

a way to trap it in, we told ourselves, 

to keep the world airy, golden, full

of tinker-dust, but Mrs. Maela’s class 

had lots of dust and homework, very few 

live faeries, so we lowered our expectations as

we grew upwards out of Costco jeans.    

These days, we drink from Yeti travel mugs

that promise to hold the heat—but we

have learned, were taught, the magic doesn’t last,

that coffee with the rest will go lukewarm.

So here's to those who somehow never learned.