The Stories You Tell Yourself

the stories you tell yourself
when you are sleeping;
the strawberries in the sunshine

and you're never eating berries
off of the vines and then
you're in a job; you can't get leave

though the other dream 
people stream home in droves,
you can't even find the exit.

oh, there's someone you used to know
who somehow finds the way to say
to you what they didn't finish saying

the last time they were rude.
I look in vain for the fairy godmother's cue to a
sudden appearance there;

the twinkling of wings; the pumpkin
transformations in the garden.
the beautiful, beautiful dress.

where are they? I could cry out loud
but then I'd wake myself up
never finding the answers.

mary angela douglas 18 january 2016