“I can’t find Barbie’s blue shoes!”
“Well.” Mom winked at me.
“Maybe a Borrower took them.”
It was our private joke
whenever something small
vanished unexpectedly.
Maybe Barbie’s shoes
were under the floorboards
in a cozy miniature home
on the feet of a teensy girl
sitting primly on a thimble.
 
Like The Borrowers book
we read cover to cover
at least three times.
 
We spent so many sweet hours
between eight and nine at night,
Mom snuggled beside me,
reading just another chapter
in her crisp, calm voice.
 
And for as long as I live,
I won’t see
a lost toothpaste cap
as merely missing,
but maybe swiped
by someone dainty
who needed a new cup
to set on her tiny table.


© by Jacqueline Jules.
Used here with the author’s permission.