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 i sat down to write about seashells

but i’ve been sitting here for minutes trying to think and i can’t

so instead i’ll tell you about fairies.

when i was a little girl,

and by that i mean little, and a girl

(of which i’m currently neither),

me and my friend would walk to the back of a

large dark field

stumbling and slipping on nettles and their prickly-horned tongues,

until we found the place where

grass and weeds grew up tall and kissed

the woody backbone of a burnt fence,

and we’d peel the wood and leaves and dew back

and look for snails,

and every so often she would yell

or whisper conspiratorially on the way back armed with iridescent shells,

that she saw a girl with wings.

i never saw her,

or maybe i did and i can’t remember

or maybe i did but it escapes the clipped wings of my mind now.

like i was saying

we’d whisper about it and giggle in fear when

my family would ask us what we were talking about

and hush at the end of the day after telling her parents everything

when the sky bled gray and blue and

red slipped beyond our reaches and

the sun blanched and curled inward and fell quietly beyond the horizon.

i’m sure i saw her somewhere

but i’m older now and my body hurts

nearly all of the time

and my vision is blurry in more ways than one

and i can only think about a different kind of magic

and i say i too much.

sometimes i wish i could go back

(before everything happened)

and ask myself,

what did you learn there?

what did you learn that i forgot?

Hey it's Nash! ╭☞( ͡ ͡° ͜ ʖ ͡ ͡°)╭☞
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