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Sarah Ann Winn

Glinda the Good Witch in Her Dressing Room

Closeup. She is removing her makeup. In books, being good was enough. In Hollywood, they dyed her white hair, washed her pristine white dress with ruby colored socks. She floated down in silly spheres, her face artificially smoothed, without magic. Her wisdom reduced to a wave of a wand, focus on gold curls framing a young face, smiling, a silent film.

Glinda the Good Witch Enters Narnia

Winter of rosy snow,
she slides up in a sleigh
to serve Dorothy hot cocoa
poured from a Winky's blue checked
thermos. No complaints about long winters,
no lions, only snow, swirling like a dust cloud
across the empty prairie grown blank.

Glinda the Good Witch Enters the Chocolate Factory

Delivered via glass elevator,
the doors part,
she emerges - her wings are implied -
from a Wonka patented
pink cotton candy cocoon.

Flits past the children,
would have kissed
Charlie's forehead,
but he's enveloped
in good sense, holding
the ragged arm of his grandfather.

Glinda the Good Witch Enters Chadd's Ford

Stretched on the grass reaching
towards the clapboard house,
her back to us, her crown set aside,
she is young Christina, we are Andrew Wyeth.

Glinda the Good Witch Enters the Ring Cycle

No more saccharine,
stepping out of white flamed fire,
her Valkyrie voice.

Glinda the Good Witch Enters Kansas

Already she's become young Em
in a kitchen, breakfast of sepia
peanut butter toast, we round the corner
as she lifts a bottle of milk from the table.
The only other color's a burst of pink geraniums at the window,
and Henry's faded shirts waving from the line.

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