Posted by ideomancer on Mar 1st, 2011 in poetry, Vol. 10, Vol. 10 Issue 1 | 1 comment
Her tales were broken on the Brooklyn streets,
where the old fairies had withered and died.
No one could spare the puka milk,
or take the time to ride a horse to dreams,
or venture beyond the city streets
to sleep beneath a stone cold hill. Her tales
were broken by the guns of war, by tracing
her brothers on Pacific seas, a broken marriage,
scraping for cash. Her mother’s tales.
Lost and tangled, whispered over
my bears and dolls, my games
of let’s pretend.
Let’s leave the puka a little milk, she says.
Keeps things from breaking. The way Santa
needs milk to feed the deer, the way
we all need to remember that things
can change. That something else
is what spoils the milk. Here, have a cookie
and lemonade. Maybe later,
we’ll drink some milk,
or just let this milk rest in a bowl.
Mari Ness occasionally wonders if fairies are stealing cookies from the cupboard, since, clearly, she couldn’t have eaten that many of them. Her work has appeared in multiple other places, including Fantasy Magazine, Goblin Fruit, Hub Fiction, and Shine: An Anthology of Optimistic Science Fiction. She lives in central Florida. You can follow her on Twitter at @mari_ness, or for longer ramblings, at mariness.livejournal.com.
Mari Ness is our featured poet this month. You can read an interview with her here.
Leave a Reply