Real: A Poem For The Mother Who Lets Her Young Child Believe


I am dreading the day 
when I have to tell my son that fairy tales are not real 
and Santa Clause is a “spirit all around you.”

A strange thought, on a windy Friday afternoon, while I suddenly realize that mirages are prevalent in more places than just within the sun-struck sand.

I wish I could tell the truth–without compromising the sweet illusion.

I wish I could forever hold onto pots of gold and unicorns.

I wish I could protect you from all the darkness in the world–

Create a bustling, massive fire deep in the woods that somehow lights paths around you,
like a majestic, illuminating halo.

I’d like to remind you, someday, that I once believed in fairy tales, Santa Claus, and unicorns

and although I believed that Jaws lived in my swimming pool,
I also believed a friendly, pink monster lived under my bed.

I want you to know that I used to disappear into my books. I pretended I lived in a Dr. Seuss world with Roald Dahl’s BFG and my pet mouse, Ralph.

I brushed my hair like Ramona, and my best friend’s name was Soup.

Yes, I want to tell you about how my imagination was rampant with victories, stories, and ideals. 

I will one day have to remind you that I, too, was once very young, and how I wish sometimes that I could go back to those naive, spectacular days when everything was so fully illuminated.

I wish it would benefit you to always believe in fairy tales, but someday, this will not be the case, and I will have to explain that the happy ending was only part of the story; they exist, but not always.

Until then, keep steadily believing that the impossible is possible, and pixie dust, Rudolph, and friendly giants are incredibly, incredibly

Motherhood: Poems about Mothers by Carmela Ciuraru

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