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The Other Woman

The "other woman" is Wendy
She's co-dependent with Peter
She's passive-aggressive with pirates
and sleeps with lost boys

She threatens to leave Neverland
because Peter won't be her daddy
won't discipline the children
or stop seeing Tiger Lily

Wendy won't live in Peter's shadow
She wants to wear it as her own
She professes her love for Tinkerbell
but aims a poisoned arrow

Hooked on fairy dust
Confined by her storybook
Wendy is a lost girl
with a Peter Pan complex

Post Note: You can read my poem The Lost Adults of Neverland, published on Della Donna HERE.

Comments

Nice...both of them. Very very nice!

I forgot to add that I never really knew Peter Pan.

Some of the references might make more sense if you knew the story, which(as most fairy tales are) is rich with material and metaphors. The poems are poetically fictionalized but based in the truth and written as a form of self-therapy. You can't make this stuff up!

neat. fresh change from your usual style.

sweet !1sandy

You always loved Peter Pan.
Great Poem! xoxo

What a WONDERFUL Poem Colleen....It is delightful and insightful!

I love it!!
You always make me open up my mind to seeing things in a new way ;)

Colleen these are both so excellent and insightful. What great writing!

Thank you Deana! It's so good to hear from you. Thanks to all for the feedback.

There may be another flurry of Peter Pan poems in the works. Here's mine from the first go round.

Wendy Fallen

I knelt at your feet when I sewed
on your shadow, the toe of your sock
in my teeth, awkward snip,
good enough to ground you.
How could I tell I’d finished?

When you flew in the window,
too light to land, you hovered.
I chased your outline around
the mattress, traded the tip
of your wooden sword for a swear—
I was willing to step off the ledge
convinced I wouldn’t fall.

Here on the island where we all wear pajamas,
I’m the only one with a dress and an apron.
I’m the only one with shoes.
Through the day,
while I lose the boys underwear, shadows collect
and bump against my socks.
I keep scraps of you in secret.

The boys come home chanting at you:
Peter Peter pumpkin eater
Had a wife and couldn’t keep her
Put her in a pumpkin shell
And there he kept her very well
You refuse to answer. Stomp off to crocodiles.

Now I’m hip deep in seeds and slime,
orange pulp, two windows, triangle eyes,
my only door through the mouth
with all its knifed teeth. I walk out.
You can’t keep me. I slice your shadow
off and tuck it in my pocket before I fall.

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