from “Eventual Proteus”

I held you through all your shifts of structure: While your bones turned from caved rock back to marrow, the dangerous fur faded to hair, the birds cry died in your throat, the tree bark paled from your skin, the leaves from your eyes. – Margaret Atwood

Nursery

We opened the door to the fairy house & took our tea on matching pebble seats. Somehow we got out of there alive though something crystalline of us remains in that dark, growing its facets. We opened the door to the fairy house at the oak’s black ankle. You asked What could happen? as you… Read More Nursery