SAFE AND SOUND
Anastasia Wolfe
Dedications
For my Wolfe pack, my friends, my dogs, and anyone else who comes across these little poems.
My Favorite Color
Her eyes are my favorite color, a baby sea blue, that remind me of you, reflect back in time, when you first laid those same eyes on me.
Run Free
Run free, my dear like those four horses running over the horizon.
Run free, my dear, join those horses, beat them in their race, take charge.
Run free, my dear, right through your fears and know, in your heart, you are unlike any other, your own magnificent self.
The Butterfly Blanket
I am the first thing they wrap around her the day she comes into their world, the first person to touch her. Feel her, comfort her, keep her warm when night-time calls, know she is alive.
I make her a butterfly whenever she wraps herself up in me, promise without saying a word she’s safe and sound in my cocoon.
When I hear her cry, I happily soak up her tears. When she falls ill, I give her strength, stay her faithful friend, her protector.
When they leave her and it becomes time for her own wings to take flight, I go with her.
I whisper, each night she’s apart from those she loves most, she's not alone.
I’m here, and always, will I stay, just like that morning we first met, her butterfly blanket.
Who Knows
Beyond the trees, who knows what you’ll see. Maybe your future, your past, or the present. The mountains loom, cast in a fog that hides a beauty within you’re afraid to see.
But before those trees, shines a lake. And in that lake, your reflection peers back, beckoning you from within, to take the first steps across that lake and face whatever lays ahead, the beautiful unknown, waiting for you to make your own.
Alice, it’s time to wake up!
You became a rabbit hole, something for me to explore. Keeping me up all night like an owl, hooting at me to write, write, write!
You became an angry queen, whenever I refused to play with you, crying in the dead of night: off with your head!
You became a story to remember, one I wrote just for you. When I gave you that story, you handed it back to me like a present you didn’t like, calling me by the wrong name and saying I was late, late, late!
In the Morning
Someone told me I was in the wrong place, that I missed my exit by a long shot. I was in the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong appointment. I apologized, got up to leave, but they followed me to the door. Then, they followed me home, and when I slept, they slipped into my dreams. Told me to come back, come back, come back. I did, but again, they told me I was wrong, out of place. Again, I slept, again they begged. Back I went, back they shoved me away. Back and forth, we danced until one of us fell over. I went home, slept again. In the morning, no one told me I was wrong. In the morning, my doubt was gone and my new life began.
Dead of Night
If you want to steal my heart, visit me when I least expect it. Haunt me in the dead of night, and hear me cry without you by my side.
Never Alone
I am pacing, alone in my mind, free to wander.
I am there, gone to another reality, back where I left her.
I am where I write, where they live, where they thrive, where they come to life, I am in my story.
I am pacing, lost, but found, a wandering writer, never alone.
By The Canal
He was walking by the water with a hole in his heart.
A missing part of himself, you took with your luggage.
He looked down, into the canal, stopped short as he saw your reflection.
You called him back with silent eyes, and, there, cast the final spell on him to bring you home.
In Her Gloom
In her gloom, she finds your favorite vase, sees your blue roses missing, the silver ribbon missing.
In her gloom, she goes to the garden where you thrived, scoops dirt into her hands, moistens it with her tears, drops three blue seeds into the holes in her heart.
In her gloom, she watches, sits from afar, hears a heart monitor die, two fathers cry, a family collides.
In her gloom, your roses bloom, new petals unfurl, transform with new life, become that blue you love so much.
In her gloom, she plucks up your roses, goes back into the mourning room, fills your vase again, hands them to the hands that cared so much for you, says, I planted these in memory of you.
Safe and Sound
Pitter-patter, his toes, against the hardwood floor, as he turns the corner, his little collar ringing like a little bell.
Pitter-patter, his toes, as he pokes his nose through my door, his blue and brown eyes sharp like a little hawk.
Pitter-patter, his toes, as he quickly leaves my room, his white-tail wagging, his patrol done, and me, safe and sound, in my bed.
Author Bio
Anastasia Wolfe, an undergraduate at Uindy, hopes to one day become a writer and is following her aspirations in writing.