Wendy still lies ill from an arrow wound
so the boys have built a house around her,
red walls and mossy green roof and roses
by the window near a fairy path.
The wan girl reads Peter Pan
in her parents’ bed, feverish and
fuzzy-headed on a dark November day.
Now the lost boys are tucked up in bed
in their own home in the ground and
Wendy is drinking beef tea. They can hear
pirates carousing and wolves howling.
Her half-brother appears then by the door
inching towards her, tries to get in the real bed.
She wears a white nightgown. Her mother is out.
Get out! Get out! she says as she pulls
the covers up as he crawls on top of them
as she holds the book against her chest.
Leave me alone!
Her teen brother gets off the bed, leaves
her alone—for now. The pirates are still
carousing, the wolves are still on the prowl.
the lost boys are sleeping
in their bed under the ground and
Wendy is alone in her moss-covered hut.
Soon a throng of fairies will pass on their
way home, but Peter keeps watch
by her door, his sword drawn.