I soared through the London sky
With Peter
Wendy
And the Lost Boys,
The stars supplying night's magic.

Spun myself toward sickness
In an oversized teacup,
Loving every minute of it.

Stood frightened
Of holographic ghosts
Upon entering
Their haunted abode.

Took pictures with Belle,
My fairy-tale role model.

Sang with Pirates of the Caribbean,
Letting out a little-girl shriek
When a two-foot waterfall approached.

At age five,
I found myself.

Returning to my childhood heaven
Twelve years later,
I sit in a wooden box with wheels on it,
Watching Peter
Wendy
And the Lost Boys
Fly by me.

And stared at the wires
from which the stars hung.