“A Wish Withheld ” by Mary McCall

My town has leveled the local
wishing well, building a casino.
My genie is on maternity leave,
my fairy godmother has called in
sick and a pumpkin is shuffling
and scuffling across the floor,
clink-clinking in a pair of glass slippers.

Even Ursa Major cannot bear
to part with any shooting stars,
the food of constellations.
The dandelions dance
with the daffodils, waltzing
to a breeze that scatters their seeds.
Can one wish upon a weed?

Then, my curtains cough, wheezing
with a wind that winds around
the flames upon the candles on
my cake. The breeze snuffs them out
before I can puff them out;

and so, here I am, grasping bone
before yank, and snap—
my wish instantly as hollow
as the marrow-channel of my
jagged, shorter, piece.