The Dragon Learns to Love
A Poem by Abigail Martha
I remember when I dragged you up to my mountain peak,
You were wrapped in a silk gown, your voice a broken shriek.
You were my prize to claim in chaos and fear,
A princess made of light and sun, finally mine, finally here.
In my cave, I saw you kneel, your head so low,
But in your heart, I knew a fire, a hatred, had started to grow.
I knew it was when you didn’t speak to me in fear, just grace,
A storm of stars as bright as fate burning in the gaze from your face.
I found myself conflicted, wanting to burn the entire earth just for you,
To save you from any bind they swore to hold you to.
To let your kingdom fall, and let cursed legends die,
I would let them hear me, feel me, fear me with just a battle cry.
'Cause I was once a beast with a flamed throne,
With scales like night, with a heart left alone.
Lost in a tale that left me as the one to blame,
Now am rewarded in whispering, softly, your sweet name.
If love’s a crime, then slay me like the beast I am,
For you, I’d become the monster, the beaten, the damned.
You’re my light, my fire, my sun above,
This is the tale of us, of love.
Carved of fire and grace, of destiny undone,
Me, a serpent with wings, and you, the royal one.
Let them write us out of fear and misunderstanding,
But know, I’ll set it all alight until we’re the only ones left standing.
No curse, no crown, no stars above,
Can end a dragon and his darling, his love.
If I Were You, and You Were Me…
Kathy Riley-Price
November 12, 2025 - If I were you, and you were me, which life would you choose: the present time’s crowded hush, or the bright, uncertain promise of tomorrow? Would my days fold you under their weight, making you close my life’s book and walk away? Or would you sit, stubborn and slow, turning every problem like a stone until its shape is clear? Could you finish my homework while laughter fills the room, juggle equations and crayons, patience and play?
My eleven-year-old speaks like a river, warm and unstoppable. Her voice is a sunrise that never learns to hide its light. She is my compass, spilling secrets into my ear, laughing, asking. Living. How could I ever be angry at that?
Beneath that ease, my little son’s one year of pure demand arms windmill at the world. His call is different but the same, bright and urgent, seeming to shout: “See me!” He screams because the world is now, and I am all he knows. Between their wants and my deadlines, the hours grow as thin as paper.
Remember, you are in my shoes. What would you do? Do you turn away? Do you shrink your love to fit the time, or keep pushing forward, messy and exhausted, choosing the long road over shortcuts?
Sometimes, I sit still and taste the strange luxury of having nothing to do. How lucky I feel to finish my tasks, to step outside alone, to call a friend and not be pulled back by tiny hands. Would you trade places with me? For your quiet for my beautiful chaos? Don’t forget to make dinner!
Once I make it through chapter one, it feels like two more sections waiting for me like small mountains. It takes an hour to cook; the clock says seven, then eight. Life is these minutes stack like the pages waiting for me: children, papers, laughter, the stove’s slow breath. If I were you, and you were me, would you stay? Would you take my life and make it yours, or remain in your perfect peace without the lion’s roar?
Hear this: what you’ve just read is not only mine but every mother’s, the life of those who are now and those who will be. We have each held these moments, and we will never squander the small, indelible ones. I am a mother, yours to call, the one the Lord made to be perfectly yours. The one you call when you’re alone, the one who catches your tears when you’re done crying, the one who knows when you’re not feeling well even though your emotions don’t show. I am a mother.
If you were me and I were you, would you take chaos over peace, even as the sounds of ruckus are full of memories? If I were you and you saw me, would you change these moments of memories? If I were you, I would say “hello, welcome to my lovely home.”
Everyone has a story to tell whether you’re a mother, a father, a daughter, a sister, or a brother, take time to hear each other’s story. In everyone’s story, there’s a little bit of you inside of everyone else. Don’t be afraid to reach out. There’s someone out there who knows what you’re talking about.