Rebecca Kai Dotlich

Cookies for sale! And cake! One dime! That's what it says on my cardboard sign. I pile cookies on a plate. I eat just one and then, I wait . . . I taste the cake (one tiny slice) I squeeze the lemons and stir the ice; I count and stack the paper cups . . . fresh lemonade is coming up! I count the bruises on my knee . . . won't somebody buy something, please?

On thin golden poles gliding up, sliding down, a kingdom of horses goes spinning around. Jumper, Brown Beauty, Dark Thunder, Sir Snow, a medley of ponies parade in a row. Settled in saddles, their riders hold on to reins of soft leather while circling along on chestnut or charcoal, on sleek Arctic white, on silver they gallop in place day and night. Such spinning is magic, (to dream as you sail) with lavender saddle and ebony tail, whirling to music in moonlight, spellbound, galloping, galloping, merrily go round.