Ploughing is one of my fairy poems, a celebration of all things gentle and delicate and of how the passing time springs bursts of colour and light.
Ploughing – Fairy Poems
Overnight, he went from babyface to tree-bark skin, and I wonder why the fairies ploughed his face, his three-day stubble pencilling a thin lawn and capricious red and yellow flowers blotching, him in the midst of squawls singing and a million fairies dancing. His heart – the passing beat whisking and wheedling the light his eyes are spilling onto the ground. Flowers grow. Orchids where he’s fattened calves and Jasmine in the furrow he’s been treading softly. Fairy fingers till skin, and no one knows they’re scattering flower pods and mulching the ditch. He raises the crystal wine glass to his lips, and I see fairy wings lightly tend kisses.
Ploughing, Anita Alig 2020
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