The Real Mary Poppins Got Lost When

It's A Wonder That Any Mother Ever Called A Daughter Dinah Again. But Some Did. Maybe You Guessed That There Was More To Me Than The Voiceless Cipher In The Text. Maybe You Heard It In The Music Of My Name: The First Vowel High And Clear, As When A Mother Calls To Her Child At Dusk; The Second Sound Soft, For Whispering Secrets On Pillows. Dee-nah.

I Could Not Get My Fill Of Looking. There Should Be A Song For Women To Sing At This Moment Or A Prayer To Recite. But Perhaps There Is None Because There Are No Words Strong Enough To Name That Moment.

It Is Terrible How Much Has Been Forgotten, Which Is Why, I Suppose, Remembering Seems A Holy Thing.

The Real Mary Poppins Got Lost When Hollywood Turned Her Into A Cream Puff.

I Tell Writers To Keep Reading, Reading, Reading. Read Widely And Deeply. And I Tell Them Not To Give Up Even After Getting Rejection Letters. And Only Write What You Love.