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Tale of the Fairies

 

To wear the horns is to face your true self

in the well of wishes.

A bird told me this. Or I told the bird this.

That and how the sky paints itself behind

the place where shadows would rest.

If shadows rested.

Flutter the wings of my heart

with your flashbulb, burn my retinas

against explosion. The curtain is only

there to deceive the truth so it won’t enter.

Name your daughter Stupidugly

so the fairies don’t steal it.

Name your son Dumbdirty

so he can suckle at your breast.

 

See how no one wants to sit on the chair?

See how it doesn’t even look like a throne?

They say they fear the horns. Or maybe thorns.

Anyone can see other curves matter more.

Lips lean down, touch beak, break

the caning of the back. Seven swans

carry the heart of stags in their maws.

Between photos, I knit sweaters of

bones and needles.

No one should have to eat the marrow

unless they have a taste for it.

 

That thing on the table is your egg.

Your bean. Your ring. Your riddle.

Put it on. Crack it open. Tell it again.

Third time, charm them into believing

you’re traveling somewhere close to the truth.

Stupidugly was not stolen away by a

guitar strummer with a hotrod.

Dumbdirty never left, sits in his

pajamas and daddy’s overshirt.

He wears a crown of horns in his hair,

a ring of gold in his tongue.

This is your future. Happy?

The bird watches.

The shadows slip behind real.

Tomorrow, this picture won’t remember itself.

Fuck. Everything is modified by something.

 

***

NOTES: Today’s prompt was to go without adjectives, which is harder than one might expect, and I’m not even sure I nailed it. Definitely sent me off in cool new directions, though. Every time I hit an adjective, I thought, “Go around.” 😛

Read today’s prompt by Kirsty Logan (as well as the inspiration beyond poem-a-day) over at Not Without Poetry. My goal is to write a poem each day in less than 20 minutes, and without additional revision beyond the writing experience.

 

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