A silent, self-contained wee fay she was,
Admiring dawn's rays raking her domain,
Highlighting textures of each tree possessed,
Blessed, and addressed by secret Elfriche names.
Midsummer would arrive by next full moon.
Some would beg Fairy Queen to grant their boon
To enter blood-red life for mischief when
Impenetrable walls between two realms
Were thinnest on the twenty-first of June.
A porous border! Harm might lurk beyond.
Yet inner fires spiked. What were humans like?
One day an interloper came and carved
An X so deep in bark, she winced, eyes squinched.
Gazing upon mature, fine hickories,
He broke one branch, denuding it to craft
A switch. Then slashing through the undergrowth,
He carefully surveyed the green as if
Deciding where to pitch his patched up tent.
She hovered high above, amused to play
At peek-a-boo — although invisible —
While wondering what fools might mortals be
As he worked tirelessly, uprooting weeds
With naked hands, his skin's moist, shimmer slicked.
His muscles tensed uprooting stumps, a spray
Of dirt outlining curves ashine with sweat,
While wrestling with thick underbrush, thorns, rocks,
Creating his domain: campsite, fire pit.
Was he aware of being tailed, surveilled?
Deep woods became a labyrinth of light
As he brought order, willing earth to yield.
Whenever he took leave, there was a void,
A suffocating gap unnoticed before.
Could she contend for space supremacy?
Except infatuation brokers change.
No longer wishing to engage or play
With pixies, sprites, immortal kin, she found
Her former pastimes frivolous compared
To his endeavors. Steadily, he’d lined
A hole with birch bark and mosaicked stones.
When came a long, hard, sideways rain, behold!
A pond appeared. His garments tossed, he scrubbed
His body as she stared — especially
At marvels poised between his legs: a frog
Thing crouched in dark reeds, sprung from wiry hairs.
Dried off with leaves, he dressed again, as if
To numb her canvas, wipe it clean. Her mind
Replayed this scene ‘til she became restless,
An unappeasable, wan soul, aware
That her eternal bloom kept them apart.
Midsummer’s night’s approach renewed her hope
Because the Fairy Queen might grant a boon:
Escaping her invisibility,
Communicating. Ah, perchance to spoon.
Except her majesty’s aides had rebuked
Entreaties and refused to let her through.
Antagonistic pixies laughed at this.
A troll stepped forward, bloodroot in his hand.
“With herbal potions, on June 21st
I’ll make your dreams come true! Besides, no sprites
Regard your quest with anything but scorn.”
These words rang true. “What doth thy mixture do?”
“Brings change!” Her wings aflutter with surprise
Caused her to blush. He gestured, “Come along!”
She flew behind his humpback, wondering
About intentions — hopeful yet afraid.
His dwelling smelled of unfamiliar things.
He dipped, he poured, stirred liquids into gourds.
A looking glass grew bright with serpent-fire
And in the frame appeared a human face.
In awe, she stared. ‘Twas he! Upon his cheeks
She planted kisses, wanted more. Aroused
Again by her desire, she fantasized,
Excited to imagine their embrace,
Warm blossom of his manhood pressed against
Her thighs. She wished to be his kith and kin.
One soul-confirming word from him and she’d
Renounce the curse of immortality.
Two hollowed acorn cups held their duet
Of magic mouthfuls: his and hers. “What ’tis?
Perchance a philtre to make his love stick?”
Troll chortled. “Secret remedies, skeptic!”
Alone with the elixir, the wee dame
Perched in a pine as worrisome thoughts came.
Poured on his lips, what if the potion maimed?
Six ravens flew! Was this an augury?
She checked to see if there was a new moon.
It would bring bad luck not to wish upon
A bright night gem about to make its start.
Lifting her acorn cup, she swore this vow.
“No kindred eye should witness my attempts.
But my beloved man, lest this drink smite,
I’ll try it first, protecting thee from strife.”
The potion acted like a sleeping draught.
The fey awoke in fur and hooves — a faun.
Her instincts said to flee but, without flight,
Uncertainty sensed dire auguries
At every corner. She had closed her wings
In Elfriche — then became some in-between.
That odd reflection in the pond was hers:
A furry face and four legs on the ground.
Twigs crunched and he appeared, his arrow aimed
At her, robbed of invisibility,
While his lips licked the feast of her physique.
But her eyes held him hostage ‘til he dropped
His bow, caressed her snout. “Such sweet beauty.”
The woods enclosed them in its green embrace.
Retrievers barked, surrounded them. “Hark! Stags!”
Then arrows singing slaughter whizzed on wind.
He shielded her — tried hiding her deerskin.
Before she could protest, rush to protect,
The huntsmen had intruded, slayed her dear.
Defiant, staying by his side, his blood
Pomading her, she heard the deerstalkers
Run by. Troll’s charm dissolved, quick as it came —
No more a target in archery's fair game.
Perhaps desires begin with appetite:
The hungry mind, bad weather's bloody stew
That cannibalizes emotions skewed.
Once upon Elfriche, fantasies brewed dreams.
Indulging hers, she crushed the light inside.
