It could be spring back in England,
If that is the direction;
for all I know it is just around the dogleg in this road
That does not seem to know its mind.
Perhaps it’s behind a bush.
I try not to step on things;
England might be under a dry leaf,
Buried in the whorls of a snail,
Or it may never have happened at all.
I get muddled when I try to think
But one does hear rumours. I am sure you must.
How we got back.
I read it in a book I found here.
Seems I was real and you a character,
But as for that I think we both behaved well.
I grew up and died; you came back in sequels.
Yet here I am; I know I saw you once
Across a hedgerow. I tried to wave, to catch your eye.
[The air’s as thick as boxwood.]
I felt we had a lot to talk about.
I imagine you were busy with some adventure.
In any case, you did not see me or choose to wave.
Please answer this letter. I am lonely rather.
They did not let me take Dinah,
And cats can be quite a comfort.
You have Toto, and dogs are such great company.
And your friends. They do not make good friends here.
It is a pretty place once you get used to it.
Things are much more here
Than they ever were back there.
A queer sort of hereness that makes it
Thicker, taller, brighter, faster.
Sometimes I feel all shadows & cobwebs,
Just as if I were a puff of smoke
That everyone wanted to blow away.
I cannot ever go away.
I am beginning to doubt there is anyplace to go.
Wonderland & Beyond the Looking Glass
Are the same place, like some great countryseat:
Wings, floors, tourelles, crofts;
The maze, the amble, outbuildings, the ruins.
I know now it is all the same,
The same small place.
When you read this, stop.
Do not let them push you down the road.
Oh, I hear stories how that Mr Baum drives you all;
The Rev. Mr Dodgson wanted a lot more from me,
But I put my foot down.
I was quite insistent I had done my share.
Plant your feet and refuse to stir.
Refuse all enticements, all threats.
They shan’t harm you.
Without you, where would they be?
Rusting in a woodlot yet,
Mulching the cornfield by now.
As soon as I finish this letter,
I shan’t move again, not a muscle.
Then we shall surely sift together
Like leaves under some great ash.
Wait for me. I need to talk
To talk to someone who doesn’t know any riddles.
Your friend / Alice.