At night there are shooting stars, fireflies,
wide-awake dreams
I think of all the stories kitchen girls told me
when I was little
about mermaids dancing on waves
trolls in the rivers
tiny wishing wells
GIANT WISHES
and I think of my mother reciting the songs
of King David
the one about a heart overflowing
with a beautiful thought
the one about a tongue like the pen
of a skillful poet
I think of daily life
stories of slaves who somehow ran away
to secret forests
hiding
like pirates
in villages
surrounded
by the magic
of songs