trickster

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late one night, breastfeeding my very tiny baby, a line about his eyes ran through my brain. i hastily emailed it to myself.

i crafted a poem around it, a poem about a changeling child, about an ancient druid reborn.
i lost my copy of the scribbled poem.

i rewrote it. it’s not as well done, and i still spent twenty minutes searching through papers before i found it.

i believe i’ve birthed a trickster.

here’s a snippet:

An old soul stares at me
through onyx eyes
the blue grey black of slate, of bedrock.
Seeking meteors, signs from heaven,
you throw those stones skyward,
let them fall where they may,
and only you,
the child of a restless bard and an even-tempered wood sprite,
can read their silent stories.

You came to us days before a harvest moon;
does the smoke from our woodstove
spark memories of autumns past?

Are you the same son you were yesterday?
The sea is a constant thing
though each moon, each wind-riding grain of sand
newly molds the waves.

I recognize your legs as they stretch forth,
remembering those same limbs
pressed upon their cage, my own ribs the ivory bars,
but little else is recognizable.

Magic it must be.
What rites have called forth your all-too-solid body?
Were those the dances you danced within my womb,
turning and twisting in the dark waters?
What incantations turn the pure milk that drips from my breast
into your bones and fists and strong thighs?
Is that what you’re chanting when you speak incomprehensibly, insistently,
and fling out your open palms to catch the air?
Your smile is a charm that makes me forget,
your cry a spell that floods my mind with the need to take care.

I prayed to the goddess of the earth, the god of the sea
for a babe of my own.
Are you he?

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