By Meg Winikates, April 2009
I love to guess the origins of myths,
say, ‘man stands under tree in thunderstorm,’
becomes ‘by the wild wrath of gods punished’
when lightning-struck, his grave unearthly warm.
Or, perhaps, a wailing waterfall
contains the tears of a heartbroken bride,
kept from her love across a chasm caused
by family rifts which rent the earth so wide.
For how else to explain a shooting star,
a face of stone, or two trees grown as one?
Why choose to see things as they are
if faith or fairy dust makes life more fun?
I’ll still give science preference by day–
but in the wilder hours let dreams hold sway.