Incursion
a poem to a younger self
They said do not touch the fairy mound
Your concerned older cousins.
Do not touch the fairy mound
Or they will come to curse you.
And they did, come.
When you pressed your foot onto that red ant hill.
You, little princess,
Who could not bend to a higher power
Including the fairies at your doorstep.
And those slingshot boys in your forest
Marking the songbirds, though they were yours.
The anger you wore like a crown
Furious child,
I remember. They left in fear of you, or of your Lola.
Your doorstep. Your forest. Your battle lines.
Your still-chubby fingers curling fists against giants.
The will of you now ages faded, though the world closes in.
Come back.
Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash
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