Wendy

Once, I was promised eternal youth
but I turned it down.
In my nightgown, with wrinkled hands,
a slightly scratched wedding ring and plagued
by a constant urge to sigh,
I can’t help but wonder, dear, what you are doing now.

How hungry I was for that fairy-dusted midnight sky!
How sensible I was in closing the curtains,
eventually.
Before I was a mother,
I was mother to a pack of squabbling boys
donned in animal pelts: the fox, the racoon, the two little bears,
playing Pirates and Indians,
fearing that Tick-Tock Croc,
dancing with the Tiger Lilies.
Oh how bothersome they were!
In that dusk-enveloped forest I sang lullabies
as dragonflies twinkled over the lagoon.

Fairy-dust was a must,
all the rage back in those days!
“Silly girl, think of your brothers,
we can’t all leave our lives
to be surrogate mothers
and explore the skies
through Tinkerbell’s eyes.”
Fairy-dust was a must!
All the rage for those lacking in age.
Silly woman, close the curtains,
go back to bed.


This is another poem I developed whilst at University that I have tweaked since I left. Our prompt was to write about fairytale perspectives from a different angle, such as before or after their story takes place. I have been fascinated with adaptations of fairytales since reading The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter in school, which turns stories such as Little Red Riding Hood into Gothic versions. I always loved Peter Pan, and wanted to explore the perspective of Wendy as an old woman, perhaps regretting her decisions to leave Peter Pan behind and age naturally.

Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash.

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