Down the Rabbit Hole

by Anna Ruiz

Silence is a raging sea and the dark
whiskers of a smiling otter, basking in the after-life
of his shellfish hunger,
and I’m sitting on the curb
in front of the blue-shuttered house where you live,
holding my freckled girl-face in both my somber hands,
looking like an odd question,
wondering if I knocked on your door,
would you come out and play.

See, I’m wearing
my best white and blue pinafore dress,
and the shiny black mary-janes.
You know,
the sinful ones the flying nuns warned us about.
Alas, I can’t go back in time although string theory
gives me eleven dimensions to weave in and out of,
and even the spiders of Mars are laughing at
my hiccupping,
how silly of me!
How can I swallow either of these funny-looking red or blue
pills that Mother gave me to help me down the rabbit hole.

Ah, yes,
today is labyrinth Tuesday, the day I set aside
to explore the amusements and amazements
of my childhood and I entertain the prospect of starting all over
just to find you before the time-tunnel blew us on our separate paths,
inexorably linked,
still soaking wet with a perennial wonder.