Margin: Exploring Modern Magical Realism


Dancing flakes, the texture of dust
We marvel at our first snow
Pecan trees dressed in pearly silk
Cardinals flutter in their new bed

Garbage can blackened through years of abuse
stands regal and proud in its new domain
The old barn door inviting guests
with a youthfulness not seen in my time

In the corner of our back yard stands Dora's home
smelling of warm cedar
smoke rising from the chimney
horseshoe gracing her front door

She approaches
becoming clearer as we watch
bundled in her shabby black coat and gold mitten hat

She walks with her cane
Her left palm caresses the delicate flakes
Her white teeth with gold fillings smile
A punctured dime gleams from her anklet

We gaze through our window
Our breaths shine on the pane and we smile
We could rush out and greet her but that might erase
the spell she holds over us

We're awed by her magic
Her cane—her support and her wand
Beautiful caregiver
our ebony magician
changing our season of gray to white
our hearts to pure love

m a r y   c l a i r   e r v i n   g i l d e a
a r l i n g t o n,   v i r g i n i a

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Rev'd 2006/04/25