I used to think

I used to think
That if I held my breath,
I could make friends with Anne Shirley,
George,
Sara Crewe,
And Dorothy.

I used to think
That if I oiled my doll’s hair
And shampooed it
Maybe trimmed it now and then;
If I took care of it,
It would grow.

I used to think
That if I just knew how,
I could transport myself
To the Lake of Shining Waters
Or Kirrin Island
Or even Norway, which was as made up as the rest.

I used to think
That if I caught the mirror unawares,
I would find it doing something else
Its own thing
Without me in it.

I used to think
That if I believed hard enough
The Tooth Fairy would be real.
As real as Matilda.

I used to think
That if I felt enough
Or thought enough
Or was enough,
I would be in a book
With real adventures
And characters who loved deeply and spoke so beautifully.

I used to think
That hiding in my dark room,
Was a creature.
Sometimes, the creature was friendly.
Sometimes frightening.
Sometimes just curious about me,
The way I was curious about it.

I felt a “queer ache”, as Anne says,
So close to perfection, yet so far away.

But now I feel two queer aches
Because sometimes, I feel
That I only pretend
I can hold my breath and meet Cordelia and Fatty
I only pretend
That I can magic myself to Narnia and Oz
I only pretend
That I can catch the mirror unawares.

And that’s when I realise
I want to be Peter Pan.