We Are All So Good at Smiling by Amber McBride

{ PART ONE }
THE WILTING
The ancient Bennu bird of Egypt, often
associated with the soul of Ra, resembled a heron
with a white crown. It sat atop the Benben Stone—the
Mound of Creation the only solid ground
in a universe not yet created.
It sat soundless in darkness—

alone, waiting & (perhaps) wilting.
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Call Me Magic: Call Me (Whimsy)
This is what I know:

my name is Whimsy & magic is real—
a fine glitter hovering in the air.
It doesn’t matter that most can’t see the energy (the ashe)
like a woven spell stringing through & connecting all things.
It doesn’t matter that some don’t believe in magic,
they still inhale it.
They are still part of the plucked heart-thrum of life.
You see,
the non-magical look & look & don’t see.
Still, there are things that cross magic lines.
Sadness can seep into anything, even trees
especially the weeds—perhaps (even)
a soul.
This is something true:

ever since I was three feet tall
I’ve had the same uniform—
a pair of Converse shoes, black with little white skulls
kissing the tops,
a pair of black jeans worn at the knees from kneeling
in the weeds.
A black T-shirt never tucked in, always lazily hanging,
a tiny necklace with quartz at the center
that Grandma gave me.
I wear black sunshades that hold back
unspun licorice curls
5
& leather gloves on full moon days
to hide my glowing palms.
Last, always dirt & my Fairy Tale
notebook in tow.
This is something difficult:
I am here (again) in the hospital,
& my uniform changes—
no jewelry (they took my quartz necklace).
White shirt (they confiscated my black one).
White pants (my black ones had too many pockets).
White shoes (that show too much dirt).
Gloveless, bookless, dirt-less & moonless.
Feeling less, less, less.
This is the thing,

sometimes it gets bad, roots mingle with a strange soil
& you don’t trust your hands with your skin.
Sometimes that means you are admitted to a hospital.
To be watched & watched & watched & watched.
To talk & talk & talk & talk—
to sometimes break.
It’s like Grandma said to me when I sat, legs crossed

like cherry stems, at the edge of the Forest where toothy fog
had already begun to seep into the soil—
Hoodoo is real, witches & Fae people too.
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Fairy Tales are real,
magic is real, but, careful, Whimsy,
sometimes your own mind will unroot you.
This is what I think:

I am (Whimsy): I am magic just like my name.
But I am not whimsical (anymore).
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PROLOGUE:
HOSP ITA L
THE WHIMSY GIRL
Ashe Child:
A child loved by the supernatural
& glittering with magic. In Hoodoo,
ashe is the magic in all things.
8
Outside My Hospital Window
It’s cloudy (inside me) & outside the window

with bars & netting that basically yell,
Don’t even try escaping.
It all started with a 3-day hospital stay

then Mom & Dad ( Jill & Jack) moved me
to a private facility for extra care
for 2 more weeks—14 days.
Day 1: busy schedule from 7 a.m.–7 p.m.

Day 2: same thing with an evaluation & new meds.
Days 3, 4, 5, 6 & 7: same schedule, less hazy
on the (inside) & outside.
Here’s the thing,

my hands have not handled
the earth in 7 days, which is a different
kind of sadness.
It’s 6 a.m. & I wake from the usual nightmare

that even sleeping pills don’t dull—
the one where I try to play the goddess
& make dead things more alive. The one where
a shadow crams dirt down my throat & twigs replace
my hands & some Ursula has taken my voice,
so none of my spells stick to the air right.
9
I look down, my palms glow amber-golden
on account of the full moon. It’s strange to still glow—
days after perhaps, maybe, wanting to die.
10
Car (Silver) like a Broadsword
In the distance an engine purrs

& my feet hit the ice-cold hospital floor
thinking Mom & Dad might be here early, for their visit.
Beyond the window with steel netting

a large gray owl & a smaller white one
sit perched on a slim tree limb—
looking wiser than even the stories claim.
I worry the branch might break with their weight
but then again, I worry about breaking a lot.
The parking lot is dim & I watch

the horizon gently run golden
fingers through the darkness.
It looks difficult, the night (departing) & day (arriving)—

I imagine them begging
to hover together in this moment (forever & Fairy-Tale-ever),
never wanting to fall out of touch.
The engine revs closer.

I spot a silver car, the same hue
as a broadsword, backing into a parking spot.
The door swings open & a boy with mint-green hair

like just-birthed forest moss
steps out (one long leg at a time).
10
11
The deep V-neck of his shirt reveals
the bloom of a flower tattoo
(creeping thistle)
I think.
I watch the sunrise rush forward

like it wants to touch him,
like it wants to hug him
& perhaps, maybe, love him.
I watch the owls on the thin tree limb
cock their heads, left then right,
when sunlight reaches them,
they spread their wings &
take flight, looking for night.
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12
Shadow-Wings
The boy is alone,

(which is strange)
most kids don’t arrive here alone.
Usually there is a mother, a father, a sibling,

a friend, a teacher, a therapist, a nurse—
(someone, anyone) to stand & witness
the bravery of surrendering—of crossing the line.
I should know, I’ve done this many times.
The sunrise still shadows the mint-haired boy

outlining his trim frame & I see them
(the outline of wings) shadowed on the pavement—
Fae wings.
My palms lie flat on the window—

I want to touch them (the wings).
I want to know him (the Fae boy).
I want to add him (to my notebook stuffed
with Fairy Tales).
His gaze climbs, laddering up

the building & lands on me,
taking in my glowing palms,
big brown eyes, dark brown skin,
& wild black curls filled
with electricity.
12
13
He removes his shades,
lets his green hair fall (like spring leaves)
into his face. His brows knit as he studies me.
He shoves his hands deep in his pockets
& tilts his head as if to say,
It’s not polite to stare.
I hold his gaze as if to say,

Who is staring at who?
He shrugs, agreeing?
The dark circles under his eyes remind me of bruises,
remind me of me 7 days ago.
He enters the hospital, wings thin & wispy & wilting

(in his shadow)
with the sun greedily clinging to him—
the sun trying to love him, the Fae boy running away.
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14
Things I Know About Fae
1. Wings like the petals of a ghost orchid.

2. Wings invisible (even to me) until called forth.
3. Invisible except when their outline shadows the pavement.
4. Which only happens during the sunrise after a full moon.
5. Bones weightless as air. Skilled in magic & battle.
6. Can be born from any magical couple.
7. Cautious about witch-work & Hoodoo.
8. Witty & willful—excellent politicians or humanitarians.
9. Rarer than a corpse flower: fiery as a flame lily.
10. As whimsical as windswept broom moss.
11. Give them an inch & they will charm you out of house &
home.
14
15
Morning (Bathroom) Ritual
I get my own bathroom

because I am not high-high risk,
but a nurse has to bring
me a toothbrush, hairbrush
& a change of clothes
because (apparently)
there are limits to trust.
My shirt is (still) white.

My pants are (still) white.
The bed is made without screws—
(like a strange folding table)
’cause screws can unscrew.
My hair is a wilderness
of black candy shoestrings
around my face.
I feel naked without my black sunglasses.

I feel worried without my leather gloves.
I feel soulless without dirt.
I feel hopeless without my notebook stuffed with Fairy Tales.
Day 8 schedule:
(before breakfast)
Mom & Dad visit then
group therapy, art time,
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coping techniques,
individual therapy.
Today Mom & Dad visit—

so, I practice my smile
in the mirror over & over again
thinking, Mirror, Mirror,
who is the biggest liar of them all?
If mirrors could talk

this one would say,
You, Whimsy.
All you do is lie.
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We Are All So Good at Smiling by Amber McBride

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We Are All So Good at Smiling by Amber McBride

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{ PART ONE }

It sat soundless in darkness—

This is what I know:

This is something true:

This is the thing,

It’s like Grandma said to me when I sat, legs crossed

This is what I think:

It’s cloudy (inside me) & outside the window

It all started with a 3-day hospital stay

Day 1: busy schedule from 7 a.m.–7 p.m.

Here’s the thing,

It’s 6 a.m. & I wake from the usual nightmare

In the distance an engine purrs

Beyond the window with steel netting

The parking lot is dim & I watch

It looks difficult, the night (departing) & day (arriving)—

The engine revs closer.

The door swings open & a boy with mint-green hair

I watch the sunrise rush forward

The boy is alone,

Usually there is a mother, a father, a sibling,

The sunrise still shadows the mint-haired boy

My palms lie flat on the window—

His gaze climbs, laddering up

I hold his gaze as if to say,

He enters the hospital, wings thin & wispy & wilting

1. Wings like the petals of a ghost orchid.

I get my own bathroom

My shirt is (still) white.

I feel naked without my black sunglasses.

Today Mom & Dad visit—

If mirrors could talk

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