We Are Orphans by Avra Margariti
23 lines
Issue 3 (Fall/Winter 2023)
Sometimes they call themself Wendy,
Mother of unwanted changelings and daemons
Fallen out of prams, lost in an eat-or-be-eaten world.
Other times they’re Peter,
King of the land that never was,
Leader of the dead child-spirits seeking a purpose, a home.
Lately, they’re skull-and-crossbones-tired.
Whenever the children—onesies and animal masks—
Fall asleep in trilling treehouse hideouts,
The ruler of Neverland wanders their domain.
“Peter,” the fairies scold, glitter smeared on his skin,
“You need to look after yourself better.”
“Wendy,” the mermaids caution, shells braided through her hair,
“What will become of your children
If you succumb to illness, exhaustion?”
They forget, sometimes, that they’re an orphan too.
“Surprise!” young voices shriek back in arboreal hideouts.
The spider daemons? Have spun the softest hammock.
The dragonfly sprites? Have captured blackberries and shooting stars.
The lost children? They stole meat pies from pirate hold.
“For you,” the children say, dancing a lullaby in motion
Around their dewy-eyed ghost; their guardian
Who recalls what it’s like to be mother, orphan, king.