Wednesday, June 7

untitled fairy poem

‘don’t point
your finger’
my father

used to say
‘you’ll poke
holes in the air
and the fairies
will trip over them’

at night
in the warm
secrecy of my room
i would stab
furiously
in the darkness

laying traps
for the little
fuckers

and in the morning
my floor
would be
fish-scaled
and fossiled

with fragments
of wing

and stolen teeth

5 Comments:

Blogger 3rd daughter said...

wow! i say this word way to much but it is useful for when words fail me. love, love, love your work.

1:12 PM

 
Blogger aardvark said...

That is extraordinarily kind of you. Thank you. Do come by again, I should post some more soon.

1:55 PM

 
Anonymous poppy said...

I felt it running down my spin like a sudden warm tickling. It's quite amazing. It took me by surprise, such an extraordinary mixture of the most soft tenderness and detachment. With such a heartbreaking belief in the hidden wing..

10:33 PM

 
Anonymous Anonymous said...

An extraordinary poem, tight and resonant, doing so much with so few words....as Ian Duhig once said, 'Poems are novels without the waffle.' Beautiful. All power to your writing arm and typing fingers.

11:16 AM

 
Blogger DJ Kirkby said...

Nice...reached the child in me.

3:43 PM

 

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