The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

I promised you stories (poem)


I promised you stories—
visions of golden light,
right out the gate—
can you see them,
glinting in the bright sun,
or hear their whispers
on the flowing breeze
streaming over your ears
and into your heart—
listen! I say, just listen
a little while to the sound of my heart
whispering into your own

Talk About the Magic


Everything sounded so possible around Sarah. Little serving girls could walk in dainty shoes that didn’t hurt their feet. Monsters could be slain by magic. Becky would imagine each of the dusty, dirty clods she cleaned from behind stove or furniture as another monster to be vanquished.

In a world where magic was real and little girls were princesses, Becky herself could feel a lost princess with an inheritance of magic slippers locked in her trunk so no one could find it.

One day, the prince would come, find her in the attic tower, rescue her at last.