Category: Poetry

Once upon a time, 

Mama said, there lived fairies in golden forests,

Between dappled sunlight

And glittering ribbons of water. 

They died out one by one,

Taken over by fluorescent strands,

Eaten away by neon maggots,

Killed by lack of gold.

But Mama finds a few still,

In the sea of stars by the lake,

In the bedside lamp at 11 p.m., 

In the sun-dust swept in by the open window.

Fairies with their wings of pink and blue and purple,

Under the kitchen light, 

Floating atop waves at dusk,

Sliding down baby green leaves. 

Mama says fairies still exist, 

Frozen in time, 

And in place,

Incandescent, incandescent, incandescent. 

Urban shadows, 

In the slanted sun from glass windows.

Helios’ chariot spraying gold of blinding beams,

settling into a slumber when Artemis’ moon casts pools of white under stop signs.

Urban shadows,

In my sister’s voices, while they are pelted with tear gas. 

There is War in their blood-

the spirit of Nike and her spear. 

Silent gaps and sickly verdant stairwells, 

Pluto weaves through threads of smoke. 

And by his side, Persephone, 

In red robes, holding out fruit for those with cardboard houses.

Urban shadows, 

On metro seats, and dark trees in the park.

In quick footsteps, Hermes lies,

elevator spotlights and puddles sent flying by tires. 

Urban shadows,

as Patroclus watches another train leave a loved one.

Eroded hearts, and deathly cold handholds;

Scenery moving away from home. 

City nymphs looking out windows smudged by mist, 

Satyrs dancing to Bacchus’ melody in run-down pubs.

Demeter’s essence in small balconies of petunias and bougainvillea, 

And three-day old fruits, sold around the corner.

Urban shadows exist, 

In the places that classics once filled,

The old gods are breathing life into every chasm-

The old gods are not dead.

Peaches and clementines sitting in boxes, 

At the shop on the corner, 

Where the old man sits, 

Spitting orange seeds at his feet. 

In a small sleepy town,

People come and go by him. 

There are lemons and cherries,

Apricots and plums and wine-tinted grapes.

He sells from his seat made of cartons, 

With coins of clementine and sugar-blue, 

In strings of pearls wound around blackberries,

And blood-orange hues of grapefruit.

I bought an orange of his at lunch,

We can share it-

Half and half-

This citrus nectar of clementine coins.