Fairy Tale

I bought the whole sweet story
of the perfect family,
I watched “Leave it to Beaver”
I believed in “Donna Reed.”

In innocence,I trusted,
when they took my child away,
That “God” was the childrens bureau
and let my fears, be stayed.

I did not see two strangers,
rather, angels, from above,
A Mr. and Mrs. Perfect,
who gave perfect love.

And since they were so flawless,
then the truth must surely be,
that my child would be better off
with these two, than me.

I believed the pretty story,
Yet my grief was oh so stong,
(I thought the grief was something else,
about me,that was wrong)

When other illusions shattered,
I held on to this one,
for somehow I had to be at peace,
and content with what I had done.

Now, finally, I’m learning,
that the once fool-proof charade,
was make-believe and tinsel
a Thanksgiving Day parade.

That Mr. and Mrs. Perfect,
That faultless, flawless pair,
Lived as humans in the same old world,
and breath the same hot air.

That you worked at happy endings
that there were no guarantees,
that we all need to open eyes,
and hearts and minds to see…

The children and the Mothers
as they, all three, truly are,
Lives altered by a fairy tale,
Hopes hung upon a star.

Now I sit in wonder,
and hold my daughters hand,
and hear her call me “Mother”
at last I understand.

The unreal dreams of yesterday,
and I can’t let them be,
I no longer need their fairy tales
the truth was inside of me.

6/11/93

© Robin K. Westbrook