Yellow spikes marched from her tapered tail, up red velvet vertebrae to the crown that tiny head. Oh, she had the whitest felt fangs and black beady eyes. Her long heck was ergonomically perfect for gripping and, yes, her tiny feet were beyond cute. She was the plump, plush familiar of this Iroquois paleontologist, who incidentally farmed starfish in the basement.
The Dragon, herself, seems to have come from someone other than my maternal Grandmother — otherwise, SHE would have forcefully named the little beast like she did each Easter bunny every Spring. I am , however, certain of where her name –which means “Little Dragon”– came from. My German speaking nanny, Appolonia Kugler, Christened her and me “Drachinimi” the same day.
Ultimately, “Drach” became like Kane’s “Rosebud” – lost in transition. She became the irrational symbol of paradise interrupted — a denizen of a golden wilderness on the far side of my parent’s divorce.
Feeling myself again in some golden wilderness I assume the name and the attitude..
because I still hope to breathe fire
although not for provocation or protection
but to sparkle and flash