Page 26 of Wayfarers
of your mind, she’d say. More often
though, it seemed, reality stayed
its predetermined course and her manifestation
would retroactively mold itself to it. That’s what
I really wanted all along. Still, I manifest
finding Winslow as I call
for him into the night woods. I envision
hearing a crash of breaking twigs from the undergrowth
and him bounding to me; leading him out
to the road, where The Girl grants me the vision
of her glowing smile of gratitude, an amulet to carry
with me on my long and dangerous journey,
a secret fire by which to warm myself.
What a gift it would be, to write
such an auspicious prologue
to my new beginning.
I almost miss the whimpering over the rushing
of blood in my ears and my own panting
from the exertion of climbing the hill—the sound
of a lost and frightened gentle animal used to a life
of comfort, not built for rough and dim places.
The sound of anguish my heart made
when my mom pulled me away
from my home and dog Bilbo and dad
for rough and dim places.
I find Winslow in the brush,
his leash tangled on deadfall. I offer him
his gnome to calm him, which he accepts gratefully.
Your mama misses you, boy, I whisper to him
as I extricate him by feel, wishing I had
