DariaJack FoleyI met a very nice little 10-year-old girl named Daria on the plane coming back from Syria. She is tri-lingual: Russian (her mother), Dutch (her father), English (she lives in California). We chatted about a lot of things. At one point she looked directly at me and, with great seriousness, asked, “Is Santa Claus real?” I stammered something about how her father should cover that question, mumbled a bit, and finally said something like, “There are a lot of things that are real even if they don't exist.” I just got a note and some rhymed stories from her. This is the note:Dear Jack,(Naturally, she didn't give me her phone number, but I'm sure we can work that out.) And these are the stories: RACCOON Crash goes the trashcan! Clatter and clacket! What in the world can be making that racket? I hurry to look by the light of the moon. And what do I find? Why a fine fat raccoon! All through the garden the garbage he’s strewn, and he’s eating his supper, that robber raccoon, eating so nicely without fork or spoon, why, his manners are perfect, that thieving raccoon! And wasn’t he smart to discover the pail? And wasn’t he smart to uncover the pail? And isn’t he lucky he won’t go to jail. For stealing his dinner and making a mess. For me to clean up in the morning I guess. While he, the old pirate abundantly fed, curls up in a ball fast asleep in his bed. Don’t ask me how he managed to corkscrew his way through the King Street Pavement, I’ll leave that to you. All I know is there he was, circling, uncoiling his shining three inches, wiggling all ten toes. As the warm rain fell in the dark morning street of early April. There was a little Angel, who somehow lost her way. She stopped and saw a little girl and said “Please come and play.” “I can’t fly,” sweet Kira said. “But I hope you stay. Come and jump upon my bed we’ll laugh, bounce, and play.” They jumped so high they touched the sky, and then it was eleven. The angel found that she was home, but Kira was in heaven. There is a Matroshka who greeted Petrouska. Then came Misha who sang out to Greesha. Out came Natasha, who danced with Sashuska, and tiny little Anya, and even Vanya! Now, who will put them all away so someone else can come and play. There once was a Babushka who lived in a boot. She had too many children, who cried with a hoot. She gave them some borscht without any bread. She kissed them all loudly then sent them to bed.
|
Jack Foley