by Julene Tripp Weaver

In my fairy tale life

my friend would never

have hung herself.

My other friend would have

survived the self-inflicted

bullet she shot through her brain.

We would still visit, share stories,

write letters, laugh and cry together,

but for them, death was the answer.

In my fairy tale life

there are paths to healing,

ways to change: methods, healers,

potions, tinctures, infusions, hope.

There is the next meal out,

the next dream to explore,

mysteries to solve, beauty

and wonder for what will the next

day will bring, even on the worst days

there is curiosity, awareness

that everything changes: angels,

and fairies are possible. What

happened that made them give up

a life of potentiality, to know such

finality, to vanish miracles.

Julene Tripp Weaver has a psychotherapy practice in Seattle. Her two poetry books are No Father Can Save Her and Case Walking: An AIDS Case Manager Wails Her Blues, writing from her work through the heart of the AIDS epidemic. She is widely published in journals and anthologies. She can be found online at and Twitter @trippweavepoet.