“Our Friend Helen Hides Herself Within a Wooden Horse” by Exodus Brownlow

Our friend Helen hides herself within a wooden horse.

When we knock, we let her know that we know what all else she’s got hidden in there—untimely unsettled texts, missing necklaces from sleepovers, blackened pipes tossed to the trash, lightly covered up by net-sheer napkins.

We tell her that it’s okay, that we accept her as she is because that’s what friendship is all about.

And hey, maybe you read the texts and just forget to reply. That happens, sometimes.

And hey, maybe the necklaces slithered to your palms, wrapped themselves around your neck like silver-skin snakes.

And hey, aren’t blackened pipes the preferred instruments of really good musicians? Do you play?

And hey...you there?

When the wooden horse widens, there’s not a trace of our friend Helen inside. Not a soldier to fight on Helen’s behalf to be seen. Insides, neatly shelved with our unanswered texts, our now tarnished necklaces, and her coal-coated channels.

When the wooden horse lessens, a clack-cht-close, our friend Helen traps us all inside.

River of wheel-rollers swoon us away.

Blackened pipes burst-burn with a wizard’s whoosh.

Sooty smoke sways a prima donna’s pirouettes.