You read it in a picture book before you could read.
“What’s that, Mam?” “What, love? That? That’s a fairy.”
You weren’t surprised when you saw one, standing by the tree.
He had a glamor, like he was supposed to.
And his smile, when he saw you, just like in the stories,
Not to mention the way he was leaning, waiting.
You weren’t a child, you should have known better;
You read it in a picture book before you could read.
But no, off you went, off up the wild wind,
Mortal hand in fairy hand, laughing, the pair of you,
Knowing the pattern, knowing the stories,
Without so much as a glance behind you.
You read it in a picture book before you could read.
There’s no need to spell out the ending.
15th January 2008
