The Changling

I might have walked too close

Or passed within the shadow

Of the nursery hidden in the trees

For I quickly felt the parent’s rebuke

A pierce and pluck of hair 

A painful scold above me

Intuitive and mindlessly brave


I faced my aggressor

In whose amber eyes

Glittered precision and suspicion

Diminutive and vicious dominion

With anger lurking in its blood

DNA waiting to surface

Into the new and pastel colored season


Then after a perched debate

And avian consideration

It vanished with invisible decision

And like handwriting that had come to life

But with no pen for guidance

My hair arched and curled in its grip

Destined for a bed built out of shadow and green


And throughout the day my head throbbed

Victim to such tiny fury

That rang through the air pealing surprise

But at night though my windows were closed

I heard soft flutters

The gentle murmurings of flight

And the soft crush of feathers across my cheek



2 responses to “The Changling

  1. I like to collect birds’ nests. I bring them home, make sure they aren’t inhabited by tiny creatures I’d prefer not to live with, and then bring them inside. I’m fascinated by what I find, woven into the crevices. Once, I found some strands of hair: black and glossy. Perhaps it was yours.

    And just once, I watched a blue jay swoop down repeatedly on a cat, pulling several tufts of fur and carrying them away before the cat woke up, wised, up, and headed for a more secure location. There’s a world out there, living a life we barely imagine.

  2. Has an ethereal quality to it, something hooking you to read it

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