The man, when he was a

boy, went with his mother

to see Peter Pan. He loved

it but he would have

loved a hug of goodness and

grace, too.

 

The man, a man, saw Peter Pan,

the boy of Never-Never Land,

reject a hug from

Wendy even if he wanted

her to be the mother of the

lost boys of Never-Never Land.

 

The man would

have given anything

for a hug, one that filled him

with goodness and grace,

but the only hugs

he got as a kid

 

drained him to the

marrow of his bones

like a giant vacuum

encompassing, sucking,

smothering him to

death. And  his

 

mother did hug him, again and again.

How needy were you, mother,

the Puer Aeternus, reluctant to

grow up, asked himself.

When Peter Pan

went home,

 

his mother wouldn’t

give him the hugs

of goodness and grace.

When he went

home, the door was

locked.

 

The man, as Peter Pan,

knocked and knocked

on that door.

He dreamed of

snuggling in the warmth of

Sophia’s breasts that would

 

have nourished him and given

him the strength he would

need to grow up, grow up.

Oh, he wanted

to grow up.

Would it ever be?

 

Peter would fly away

to Never-Never Land

and the man

could only hope

for a place of peace

and maturity

that eventually,

hopefully, might be.