To My Favorite Characters: A Poetry Anthology

Paint, child,
In shades of purple
That bring to mind violets,
The kinds you photograph,
And your name.  

I have a cat that shares a name with yours,
Though I had forgotten that,
And a cello that almost reminds me of your violin,
Though I don’t have your skill,
And I can only sew small things.

I fell in love with you long ago,
When you fell sick near the end of the book,
And I felt alone because I was often sick too.
I missed weeks of school but existed in your world,
Friendless but for fictional characters.  

II. Nancy

Meningitis and mysteries,
The latter solved much quicker than the first,
Though I wondered if the pain left behind by them
Lingered like sharp pains in their bodies,
Dead relatives and lost friends,
Reunited but betrayed,
Or if they vanished like these pains never do.

Do you have red hair or blonde,
And is he your boyfriend or is he not?
There are no answers that last.
Your mysteries change too,
Not the ones I had I childhood,
But new ones that live in a world
That could not have been seen back then.

III. Louise and Jean

Forgotten on the shelves
In a town that’s forgotten as well,
Where people live and die,
And nobody outside knows their names.  

I wanted to live your lives,
But not be forgotten by the world,
And exist outside those dusty shelves
in crumbling buildings rotting away.  

One day I’ll find your books again
And take them with me to another place,
Where none of us will be forgotten,
And we’ll live in a town that’s not falling away.  

IV. Penelope

Weave, weave,
A burial shroud for an old man,
And save yourself,
Because fights come in many forms,
Not just swords and battles.

V. Addie

Journey farther than your father,
To save your sister.
In spite of the fear,
Not because of you lack it,
But because she is important,
And you must try
In spite of dragons and orges.

And maybe those don’t exist here,
But other things do,
More terrifying than orges,
Like siblings dying,
And I cried for you,
And hoped I’d never face them.

VI. Beth

Your needle grew too heavy,
And I put the book down,
Because it was too heavy for me to read.

The book still ends for me there,
With your needle and my tears,
Because none of the others mean as much.

VII. Leslie

You dreamed and dragged others in
And for once I wasn’t the only one crying,
Sitting in a class and reading the end,
Hoping nobody would see.  

I was older,
Brittle,
Expecting my favorites to die or suffer,
Because no one escapes.

But it still feels like a betrayal,
To read about a kid dying,
And be told that’s what makes good literature,
Like nothing mattered but your death.  

VIII. Luna

Upside down magazines,
Humdingers, nargles,
And heliopaths.

But also courage,
And loyalty,
And above all else,
Conviction and wit.

I wanted to be you,
Unafraid to be different,
Wearing what you wanted,
And saying what you believed in
Even when others mocked you.

I might not believe in moon frogs,
Or blibbering humdingers,
But there’s other beliefs that stand out here.

It took me books and years,
But now I speak sometimes.  

IX. Susan

Lipsticks and boys,
Things you wanted,
And I wanted too,
Bright red on my lips,
And boys carrying my books for me.

Sinner, sinner,
They cry,
And I shake my head,
And refuse to read your last book,
Because I hear enough of that.

Red lipstick,
High heels,
And tight dresses
litter my room.

I’m not worse than
Abusers, bigots, 
And rapists,
Just because I wear red on my lips,
Instead of leaving it behind on the ground.

It doesn't matter if they’re ‘good people’
And they say I’m not,
the same way the last book doesn't matter,
because we make our own ends for you and me.

X. Lavender

Rabbits,
Divination,
Gossip,
And clothes,
Harsh judgments,
And your relationship mocked.

I raged,
because Snape was redeemed,
And Bill was loved,
But you were mutilated in the books,
killed in the movies,
And not a word to be seen about your courage,
Only your gossip and boys.   

XI. Nimloth

There are no details to your character,
You exist almost as a name,
There to marry a king,
Be a niece,
And die.  

But there are hints of more,
Stories with your uncle,
With your husband,
And by yourself in the years before,
Because he was not born until after you,
And you were likely alive far longer than you knew him.  

So I draw your story in my mind,
Put it on a screen,
And share it with others,
Because you might not have any stories in books,
But that doesn’t mean I can’t give you some.  

XII. Faramir

Land and people above sword,
Bookworm, wizard’s pupil,
You reminded me of me.  

I needed that by that point,
Hundreds of pages from Lothlorien,
And wondering where I was supposed to be,
And why for people who were said to care,
There were no questions about goodness,
Except from a few
Who reminded me too much of growing up
And a group called a faceless enemy.