We were once sorceresses in lavender-bed-sheet kingdoms.

Castles beams from microphone stands and walls fortified by cloths pins.

Camped in the wilderness of the attic encircled by plastic dinosaur shadows cast by key chain flashlights and the lantern we believed to be a fire.

Fed by rows of scavenged Milano cookies and a tiny tea-set with missing saucers filled with sips of raspberry Snapple tea.

Pasted our capes together with clear plastic tape and staples.

I was eight and more alive, more rugged, more untouched, more miraculous, more bold than I have ever been eating canned tomato soup by lamp light in the my apartment still encircled by shadows and held together by nothing more than cloths pins and the perhaps pancake pillows and morning.