Lord of The Rings lingers

“The flashlight needs new batteries”

under grandma’s quilt
the one she made for your birthday out of goat hair
you smiled a child’s smile
given when crying isn’t a wise option
the party continues
adults drinking and laughing
talking as grownups do when the kids are out of earshot
the roar swells and recedes in regular intervals
while you
with your favorite Radio Shack flashlight
read of dragons and hobbits
of magic rings
and mad dwarves
and wizards older than time
and elves older still
you walk and ride as the sounds of your parent’s friends become the vocalization of a story you never imagined could be written
waking next morning
book on the floor
hand grasping the light
the soft maternal murmur calling you to breakfast
without hobbits
but they are still there
part of your mind forever


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