The Cheshire Cat’s smile reappears
In our kitchen one afternoon.
Close by, a key pirouettes in
A lock inside your little room.
In the dark sits a potion. ‘Drink Me’
it reads, and you do, then grow
it reads, and you do, then grow
From a thought to fingers and thumbs
The weeks playing cards rifling row
By row towards the looking glass
In which we merge and you emerge.
The door now gives to touch, a nudge
Enough to set in motion your surge
To the surface. Through the moist soil
Your head pops from the rabbit hole,
And in an instant your eyes strike
A match to the sun and to our souls.
CHARLIE BUCHANAN 