Actual Magic – A Poem

There are some days

when I feel like

the Scarecrow:

made of straw and

bits of fluff, with my

head filled with clouds,

nary a thought inside,

or able to pass through

the fog that waits within.

On other days, I feel

like the Cowardly Lion,

all bluster, filled with

pomp and circumstance

on the outside to hide

the fatigue and that

all I want is to curl up

and lose myself in slumber.

There are even days

where I feel like

the Tin Man, that metal

being without a heart,

as if emotion can’t penetrate

my metal shell, nor

seep through it.

More often than not, though,

I’m looking around at

the world like Dorothy:

full of wonder, enchanted

by the land around me;

being daring enough

to explore everything,

to discover all that life

has to offer, all over again

as if for the first time.

Dorothy held onto the hope

that she would get home,

that she would find the place

in this world and the one

beyond where she belonged.

Though I embody all of them

(the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion,

and the Tin Man)

it is Dorothy I hold closest

for she proved two things:

there’s no place like home

and that magic,

true magic,

actual magic,

is always possible.