They say it’s all illusion.
One of my favorite illusions
has yellow eyes and climbs
over my legs to get to the best spot
in front of the fire in the otherwise cold
house. She voices things I cannot
understand. Sometimes we share
my swivel chair, which she firmly
believes is hers.
When I was seven I nearly drowned.
I was so disappointed: “Was that all?”
It wasn’t. Here I am, giving thanks
for years and years of fear and enchantment,
tantrums and being breathlessly in love.
This morning the sun sang up into the marble
sky. Birds whirred like arrows.
It is too cold for lizards now. This year
I had everything I ever wanted, plus
a few scorpions, and my unexpected
new love Orion, and lately
Castor and Pollux holding hands.
Perhaps I am drowning again, blessed
and never satisfied. Perhaps the longing
for more is the ceremony
of magnificent illusion.
Beate Sigriddaughter, www.sigriddaughter.net, grew up in Nürnberg, Germany. Her playgrounds were a castle and World War II ruins. Now she lives in Silver City, New Mexico (Land of Enchantment) where she was poet laureate from 2017 – 2019. Her work has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations and several poetry awards. She orchestrates the blog WritingIn A Woman’s Voice, where she publishes other women’s voices and awards a monthly prize.