The Fairy Path

I wrote this poem nearly forty years ago, give or take a decade. But it’s April, National Poetry Month, and I thought I’d drag out a few old favorites of mine. My late cat Hibiscus makes a cameo appearance in this poem. He was a long-haired gray tabby, with caramel colored strips on his face, a magnificent animal. His spirit endures.

He’s doing it again.
That snotty little kid from next door 
has knocked two--no three--slats
from our ‘good neighbor’ fence
with the handle of a broom. 
I saw him do it.
And now they’re coming
the fairies
they’re seeping
through the hole
in the fence
blazing a trail between the twin hydrangeas
past the peony and the ferns
and wherever they step
with their sapphire shoes
nothing grows
the lupine seeds never sprout
the pinks wither and die.

Quick!--sprinkle rose petals
on the doorstep
lest they get inside and sour the milk.
My cat sees them;
he’s racing toward them
across the lawn
but the sticky sword-shaped leaves
of the yarrow stalk
reach out and snatch a clump
of his gray fur.
The fairies laugh.
He’s a portly feline; he waddles.

In the darkening summer twilight
I sit on the steps
my notebook on my knees.
The telephone pole on the corner
bisects the full moon
and I know they are coming
with their satin eyes
to salt my dreams
with the vision
of a man with long dark hair
and eyes that crinkle when he smiles.
His movements are graceful.
He reaches to take my right arm,
but I fight him every time.

It’s all the fault of that kid
next door.
If he were my kid
I wouldn’t let him get away 
with stuff like that.

Photo by Aleksandra Boguslawska on Unsplashed