(Dedicated to Judi Dench)

Peering through a left-over mirror,
abandoned in the move,
sIlvered surface
long past the time a true image could appear,
She knew.

The Alice was, is gone now.

The Looking Glass Wars waged growing up,
not understood, yet felt,
would cause too much pain, if they reappeared,

Asked, “Are you an adult or an orphan ”
She’d rush out,
close the door,
leaving it unlocked
for the next prisoner of Fate.

She, an adult who shouted an orphan’s cry,
Expects nothing.

But this other “she”, if confronted by confusion,
might leave the story land behind.

The mice heard her whimper
but they’d never tell.
She had been good to them
Larger crumbs than most, donuts’ – holes, and pasta strips occasionally.

They’d keep her secret
Till the end of time,
Or when “when” became a memory.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
June 6, 2018