Head out onto I-20.
Pick up highways like bread crumbs,
maybe they’ll lead you somewhere,
maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for.
Follow the asphalt and tar to the City,
surely The Wizard can help you.
I’ve done all I can. I’ve worked
late nights in cubicles,
missed birthdays and holidays
and family vacations. I’ve sat with you
in white washed hospitals, witnessed
your melancholy and your mania, let you
be awakened to Prozac, Lexapro, Abilify,
Lamictal, Geodon, Zoloft, listened to your delirium
of scarecrows and tin men. Clicking your heels
three times won’t cure you. There is no
Good Witch of the North. There is no magic pill.
Go west until you drive into the ocean,
grow fins, and swim the Pacific
until you reach the east and silk worms and poppies.
Annaliese Wagner has been published in Humid, The Blue Route, Blue Lyra, and Far Enough East. She divides her time between writing and swing dancing.
Art Credit: Princess Ka’iulani, “Poppies,” 1890