by Eve Robillard


For James Mason to come to me,
biting his pipe and taking me in his arms,
comforting me with that wonderful voice of his,

assuring me my evil stepmother will never beat me again,
and the awful headmaster will never have his way with me. I am
still waiting for Shane to return to the boy calling his name

through the echoing hills, still waiting for Dorothy's Someday,
for Scarlet's perfect tomorrow. Though anyone with eyes
can see that Scarlett doesn't have a clue, will never

have a clue, no matter how many sequels she gets.
And Dorothy's stuck in Kansas, and the boy calls and calls.
I wake in the morning, not next to James Mason,

but with you--warm and golden and real as the
sunshine. And mine. Almost definitely mine.

-from everything happens twice; Fireweed Press, 2002