Published in Exist Otherwise, September 2024

He claims he’s a dragon
but his scales are painted cardboard—
only for show

He claims he’s a nightmare
but I’ve seen him pick roadside wildflowers

He claims he’s a black knight
sent to battle forces of good and forces of nature and forces of armed forces
but in quiet moments I can tell he’s daydreaming

Not of death
Not of destruction

But of a cottage in the woods
no wars to wage
no villages to plunder or protect

Where swords can remain dull decorations hung over the hearth
where soup is always in the pot
where no one tells him to be a dragon or a nightmare or a man

Where he can sit quietly
and read books
and wait for his own ever after
and he doesn’t need it to be happy

only to be
quiet.