From Those He Left Behind

Poetry - by Lorraine Schein

Dear Peter,

you never blew open our nursery window.

Perhaps because our mother never told us bedtime stories

or because we didn’t have a mother for you to covet.

No fairy entered our bedroom to search for your shadow. 

We watched you and the Darling children

fly over the London rooftops that night

with the help of that small star.

We never got to fly;

we’re left only with regret.

Stars, fairies, and shadows.

Our darkness is still attached to our bodies.

Runaway boy, 

Is it too late for us?

Could you still venture

into our dull adulthoods

if we leave a small window open

in our dreams for you to soar through

and show us the way

to become lost in Neverland with you?