They say the way back to Narnia is never the same
As the road that brought you last time
The magic’s always shifting around to new places
I can never guess where  

Maybe it’s in the old black & white photograph of a family I love from afar
Maybe hanging on a thrift store clearance rack
Maybe a tray of muffins sliding hot out of the oven even though it’s 90 degrees outside  

I’ve found it in kitten claws
First snowflakes
That time we laughed so hard we peed a little
And the nights I finally let grief break out in great wracking waves  

I’ve seen it in a sunset glinting off of perfect brown hair
In the broken branches left after the thunderstorm
In morning fog and flat grey skies  

Once in a while I see it in my own hands, worn and worked
Polished
Prone  
I was looking for it this morning, and that’s never the best way.
You must let it find you.
It might be in a poem.