Monday, March 22, 2010
"Come into my palace," she says. And the remnants of a garden transform like Cinderella's pumpkin. "Come on, you guys." Old tomato stakes turn into javelin. Gray sunflower skeletons rise into the walls of a palace. They stomp and scuffle through dirt, raise clouds of dust. "It's the best part," she says, the dust. Lulie scoops up piles of earth, puffs them down into her lap. Scoop, scoop, more dust.
From far off I hear Jane call, "Momma, you're highly favored!"
Later, freshly scrubbed, my children fall into bed. I tuck them in like fresh laundry, smell their sweet skin. As I turn to pull shut the door Jack calls, "Sleep good, my angel!" And I tip-toe down the hall, all my world a palace.