On the mound she danced in the
moon's music turning;
she spoke to the poor soul
lost in the gloom:
Come put lady slippers on my flying feet
fit my fringe of fingers in foxglove bells.
Skirt me with the trumpet of a
a honeysuckle bud and for a hat,
the fresh green acorn shell
to cover and cradle my pale wee head.
See the blue lines designing my skin
that tie me tight to the lost limestone leys,
let your eyes wander their knotted tattoo.
Get you drunk on the dew that pearls on the web
my cunning sister weaves for
the broodlings that gnaw in her womb.
Maylight shows a woman's face, moonlight a thing more cruel.
Wind your white fingers down my slim stem
and see which might be real.
Beneath the furled fiddlehead, feel the skull smile.
Beneath petal flesh, a hollow bone, beneath sudden stardrops
see the red, beneath the barefoot dance feel cold stained stone.
Come close love and put the lady slippers round
my quick curving toes till the moon won't spark,
watch me dance all night, come watch, come bleed
on the grey still mound while the weavers feed.
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Sunday Challenge:Photography of Hannah Gosselin
Process Note:Hannah's beautiful photographs of these woodland plants seem very fairylike to me, and inspired me to go back to take another look at an earlier piece, called Under the Purple Leaf.
This poem is its sequel.
Both photos © Hannah GosselinUsed with permission.