I wrote the following in response to the above prompt posted over on Listen to the Reverb.
Some people “they” say there is no fae.
What else do they believe in?
I feel fog and mist, a thousand breathless touches. See winter-brown (or salt-brown?) grass bending in the wind. That wind
I hear whispers
voices on the edge of catching; the sea-grass murmurs in response.
Her lips are open, head tilted one ear into the wind and one angled toward the grass. She can almost hear their conversation, secrets almost caught.
If I could touch her now, I’d
There are no little people, we all know that, they say
….but there are always voices on the wind.
Once she put her arm around my waist
on South St.
a brief little one-armed hug
I’d made her laugh
and we’re so identical in height
our breasts touched briefly, electric paralysis
take her hand
One is hanging at her side, one raised, fingers spread to the wind
as if she can feel the voices through ridges and valleys of her
When she’s reading she sits cross-legged
right hand book-bound
left hand loosely palm-up on her thigh.
I’m no fortune-teller but
she’ll live long, I think,
there is no line
She looks at me.
“Did you hear them?”
Wind whips her hair, a blonde cloud counterpoint to the darker sky
sea-mist beads on her skin.
I believe in fae
that magic is real
so that one day
I can believe in us.