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Silent Movie
by Earl Coleman

I clung moistly to my mother's hand. I had no words
to dry her tears, fend off her fears for Tinkerbell,
whose vital light had dimmed. Please, oh please,
we pleaded silently, don't let her die, nor let her limp
wings fail. Don't leave us void of magic in our lives.

Frustrate with our urgency, suspense, we held our breath.
Then came the question -- bordered black screen, words
in white: Do you believe? If you believe just close your
eyes and wish as hard as anything. If you wish strong
enough her light will shine. Believe? At seven? I sure did.

They couldn't write a fairy story I would not believe.
At seven, never having met the spurious head on, the real
world was beyond my ken. Wouldn't it be nice we say,
even today, if there were Santa Claus, if some good fairy
gave you coins for baby teeth that had to be discarded anyway?

My mother found it a relief. She would believe and cry, at
fictions to be sure. Her harsh reality transfixed. What could
she do but gasp in horror like a bird before a snake, disbelieving
at the way we lived our lives? How desperate she was to shuck
reality as though it were a husk, fly up on wings of gossamer

to any haven in the weightless air. Back in the theater though, our
hands clasped, eyes closed tight, I thought the wild bird in my chest
was Tinkerbell. My heart did somersaults for her. But how we smiled
with open eyes when we saw she had been revived by faith alone.
We counted after all! We really could control the state of things!

What else could we believe, two childish fools?

(Published by Medicinal Purposes, 7/17/03, and by Mobius, 2/1/03.)