she sits on her steed
in a clearing
surrounded by beeches
like a little girl on a rocking horse
her cherubic face fixed to the moment
the horse is plastic
this is obvious
its smile too wide
broader than hers
she has dreamt of this moment
yet it is still a forgery
the horse the smile the feeling of control
she wears a large hat
large enough to contain
a thousand dreams
the brim catches the sunlight
but still her face is illuminated
so a chance exists
her skirt is pulled high above the knee
her legs are polished smooth shining
a texture in unison with the beast beneath her
and like her statuesque stallion
this porcelain girl is going nowhere
yet she holds onto the reins tightly
prepared and willing
should the miracle breathe life
into them both
break the illusion
and set them free
she sits alone
in a dimly lit room
cool with night air
clutching at memories
fading photographs
by her side
days long gone
remembering her childhood
while she can
how she was afraid
of the dark and the ghosts
she thought it would bring
thinking of her mother
her father her sisters
who could break the spell
now they too are only memories
and have slipped away
into the darkness
but she is no longer afraid
and she reaches out
beyond the yellowing pictures
into the still atmosphere
desperate to pluck a ghost
from the air
one to hold to her
tired and aching heart
one that will carry her
to a quieter
and more tranquil place