Monday, January 5, 2009

Writings Post no. 2

(A sequel of sorts to this.)

Teary Ole’ Blue Eyes by Genevieve

I look back and wave goodbye, but they’ve already gone.  I’ll miss you, I think.  My snowshoes disappear as I step toward the spiral staircase.  I whoosh down the smooth glass handrail, landing with a flump! in a grand bathtub filled with cotton socks. They tell me they are visiting.  I was visiting once, I say, but now I am going home.  I throw one leg over the edge of the tub and hoist myself onto the rim.  Below, I see a man in a glowing pink wetsuit waiting patiently in a tugboat.  I pluck two extraordinary feathers from my headdress and watch as they drift downward, landing lightly at his feet.  He tosses me a rope so that I can swing onboard. 

On my way down, I stop and share my graham crackers with the Sun. We talk about our favorite.  Mine is cursive and his is passion.  The Sun’s eyelids grow heavy, though.  I see that it is time leave, and we dance goodbye. 

Once I am on deck, the man in the glowing pink wetsuit hands me a sticker.  I put it on my forehead and smile.  I sit on the edge of the tugboat and dangle my feet in the water, making ripples that throw each one of you a kiss.  The man warns me to be wary of the jubbies.  Lucky for me, I have three jubbies in my ocean at home, and I remember how much they adore Abazaba Bars.  In the distance, the magenta lighthouse illuminates our path, now that the Sun has gone to bed.

At last, the tugboat shimmies to the dock and I walk down the plank on my tiptoes.  In front of me, I see my razz-ma-tazz tree dressed in baubbles and bubbles and beautiful bangles.  Bright bulbs shed light on every branch, and I notice my fort under the stairs.  Everyone is inside, playing dominos and baking cinnamon cakes so light and lofty they graze the ceiling.  They are tickled to see me, of course.  I give them their presents – a yak for my father, Versailles for my mother, and a flask filled with contagious laughter for my brother.  They thank me, and I feel content.  My eyelids grow heavy, and I snuggle into my jimjams.  Curling up on my featherbed in my fort under the stairs, I bob to sleep in my kind of town.


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