We built a soft forest, moss at every freefall
to attract them. Fairies run away from pain
and prick their ears at noises: very clever.
With maracas we shuddered them forth
like May Gibbs' sketches. The fliptop
petals branch up as that hat goes.
Terribly, with your personality it may seem
you cannot see them. Blinded by lights
in Greenborough Plaza, confused by the newly
renamed Brazilian Butterfly (formerly
Moon in Taurus Waxing).
Their plump bottoms and cheeks, loving
fat hands picking always the nearest babies
first from boronia stalks: never the most beautiful.
The closest baby is the best baby, and each
soft-fuzzed parent knows that in this way no
bush baby will ever regret anyone's fall.
Stunned from the fluorescence, you do not
see them. There's something, though:
if not little people, then a line where they
dig their graves with the bladebones of
antelope. Worn to slivers by a pelt of hail,
something that smelled to you like a
building site: dug up by the tiny hands of rain.
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Includes suggestions from:
@spikelynch: fairies run away from pain (Jo Walton, Among Others)
@ernmalleyscat: very clever with maracas (Brian Eno, Baby's on fire)
@ReadingSheilas: Moon in Taurus, Waxing (The Luminaries)
@xutraa: That hat goes terribly with your personality (woman on the tram)
@timsterne: dig their graves with the bladebones of antelope (Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian)
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