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13 Stanzas About Fairies
by the brown green waters wind whistle
rush murmur, gray the mountains and the sky:
parting leaves I find him
face a sharp dark berry.
looking up
to where the moon crooks its light around a corner,
interrupting the slumber of pajamed footsie bottomed covered, and the
very small.
What? Shall Grace be compelled to descend
like the shade of a dove, open our lips,
brush us each statue-still, with
a dip of Her wings?
Perhaps I've never heard songs to praise; just a phrase,
a half-mournful chant. Maybe I never saw berry
gleams between the boughs,
or was a child.
There are some who claim a son came, his hair
touched the earth like roots of seedlings, that
even a sharp nip of water tanged that air, that twilight
dampened the grasses.
Would that a plumage of wings and brightness did arrive, I'd
let down my hair, I'd
rub my body with anointing spices, opening!
Giggles greet my new moon pleas.
Yes I am followed
Yes I am followed
Yes I am followed
By a swirling snow.
I am the followed
I am the upon
It was snow welcomed me
In the time ago, along
Could it be here? On the verge of vision -
Or there! Where
A curve of bodies fogs the wax-scent room,
red holly bends, carved by frost
Soft a smell, soft a dream
with tendrils of darkness, a rising hum
small pale flowers of my hands, they drop
to a sharp cold scent of pine
moon faces
silver faces
star
eyes
strangers beyond the divided night
undone
the fastest running rhyme, quicker than a pilgrim's heart measure
old with pain, heavy with coin, I am the snow
strangers wander below
Tiana Diaz has studied writing at Interlochen Arts Academy, Towson University, and at Hopkins.
She has had poetry (and essays)in Grub Street Wit, Baltimore's City Paper, Beginnings, CIRCLE Quarterly,
WomanWarp, and other publications. A special education teacher, she lives in Baltimore with her husband and four cats.
Email: Tiana Diaz
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