A Letter to Neil
Dear Mr. Gaiman: Thank you for your gift
of the Sandman. Your stories have changed me;
now I see us all as anthologies, collections
of tales threaded together. I am sure I have my
own wing in the Dream Lord's library, the resting
place of all fables, even the ones that live and die
in one short daydream. I have my own collection
of trinkets, mementos, and souvenirs. Sometimes
I tell my mysteries like Cain, spearing them down
as a warning to the captured listener; sometimes
I share my secrets like Abel, breathing them out
to scatter and grow in the reader's fields.
I am a shopping-mall poet looking to make
my own boutique in the world. I have a teacher
who tells me of other woodcutters (because that's
all poetry is; the filing off of prose until only
the poem remains. I will admit that some cut
too deeply while others just knock on the wood.)
and the tales of the few words they left behind.
I want to thank you for your image of Death,
a beautiful elfin-girl who gives you a nudge
in the end and says, "excuse me, but you need
to go over here now. By the way, how has your
trip been?"
I remember the first day I saw her on your pages,
when she met her dream-king brother at a fountain.
I remember the walk they took as she went on her rounds,
and old song Morpheaus thought of as she moved
through the day "..... death is before me today,
like water to quench a thirst.....," or something like that.
I remember her warming-smile. It was one of the things
I thought about three years ago when the AIDS-volunteer
gave me a positive reading. It still is something that comes
to mind in the mornings as I count my pills.
I share your stories with my friends, some have
bodies and fluids that betray them bit by bit
because they are swimming in this plague too.
They learned about the day Morningstar gave up Hell,
locked all the doors and shushed sinners and demons
away. He registered his complaint of still paying for
his fall three billion years ago, and gave the keys
to Dream. We laugh at the little ironies as we take
study drugs. (There's enough of it right here on earth,
thank you very much.)
Your stories open deep wounds, bring new facets
into the light, and poke fun when we get too serious.
No wonder you have such wonderful artists to draw
these tales. I never knew my childhood love-affair of
comic books and muscle-clad heroes with flowing capes
and far-fetched powers would bring me to your corner
of the medium. You have given me faith in my own tale;
I can appreciate each chapter that made me what I am.
Thank you again, Brian.
