The Thaumaturgy Department

The wolf, now piously old and good,
When again he met Red Riding Hood
Spoke: “Incredible, my child,
What kinds of stories are spread. They’re wild.

As though there were, so the lie is told,
A dark murder affair of old.
The Brothers Grimm are the ones to blame.
Confess! It wasn’t half as bad as they claim.”

Little Red Riding Hood saw the wolf’s bite
And stammered: “You’re right, quite right.”
Whereupon the wolf, heaving many a sigh,
Gave kind regards to Granny and waved good-bye.

EVIDENCE
By Vivian Vande Velde

If the coach turned back into a pumpkin
And the coachman into a rat
And the footmen into mice,
One can only wonder
Why the glass slippers alone remained untouched by magic’s ebbing tide.

Obviously a set-up.
But by whom?
The fairy godmother’s ability
Didn’t extend beyond midnight.
And where would a cinder girl
Have ever gotten shoes like that?
Could they possibly have been a secret gift
From the stepmother,
Eager to get her out of the house,
Tired of her unrelenting goodness,
And beauty,
And cheerfulness
(not to mention all that singing)?

Lord, Somebody Got Drowned

On the sixteenth day of September, in the year of 1928, God
started to riding early and He rode to very late.
In the storm, oh in the storm, Lord somebody got drowned.
Got drowned, Lord, in the storm!
He rode out on the ocean, chained the lightning to his
wheel. Stepped on the land at West Palm Beach, and the
wicked hearts did yield.
Over in Pahokee, families rushed out the door.
And somebody’s poor mother has never been seen no more.
Some mothers looked at their children, and as they looked
they began to cry. Cried, oh my Lord, have mercy, if you
don’t we all must die!
Schoolhouses, halls and theaters, in the storm, they was all
blown down. In the city of West Palm Beach, only two
churches left in town.
I’ll tell you, you wicked people, what you had better all do.
Go down and get the Holy Ghost, and live a good life, too.
Out around Lake Okeechobee, all scattered on the ground.
The last account of the dead folks, there was twenty-two
hundred found.
South Bay, Belle Glade and Pahokee, they tell me they all
went down. And in the little town of Chosen, they say
everybody got drowned.
Some folks are still missing, and ain’t been found, they
say. But this we know, they will come forth on the Resur-
rection Day.
When Gabriel sounds the trumpet and the dead begin to rise.
I’ll meet those saints from Chosen, up in the heavenly skies.
In the storm, oh in the storm, Lord somebody got drowned.
Got drowned, Lord, in the storm!

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And — which is more — you’ll be a Man my son!

We Wear the Mask

WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)

All human beings are in truth akin;
All in creation share one origin.
When fate allots a member pangs and pains,
No ease for other members then remains.
If, unperturbed, another’s grief canst scan,
Thou are not worthy of the name of man.

-Sa’adi

(or, in an alternate version)
The Children of Adam are limbs of each other
Having been created of one essence.
When the calamity of time afflicts one limb
The other limbs cannot remain at rest.
If thou hast no sympathy for the troubles of others
Thou art unworthy to be called by the name of a man.