“I identify as a forest gremlin,”
They say,
Their tree limb appendages
Hugging bark –

A true flower child.

I identify as:
The last tree I climbed,
At four years old –

I identify as:
Fear,
As if by magic,
Turned anxiety
Turned self-doubt
Turned shame
Turned power
As I clung
To a too-high branch
Of the crabapple tree,
My four-year-old self
Convinced
I was never getting down

I identify as:
What was the last time
Magic
Lived outside the dog-eared pages
Of my first Harry Potter book?

I identify
Exhilaration,
Trepidation,
But an absolute lack of fear
As I extract
My four-year-old self
My four-year-old trauma
My four-year-old wisdom
From the crabapple tree
And reclaim
The magic
That has always been mine.

“I identify as a forest gremlin,”
They say,
And I think
“Maybe more a
Woodland fae
Called gremlin
By those who cannot see
Your wings.”

Written by Helen Rose on April 14, 2019