Upon My Return

The world is full of weeping

just like the faeries said.

Rats roll in the tide, sweeping

onto pebble beach beds

and each year the people starve

fruits of their labor take—stolen!

And children disappear, scarves

on bedposts like faerie tokens.

When I get home my parents are weeping

far more than I can understand.

I’d been gone but hours leaping

circles, going from hand to hand.

They tell me I’ve been gone

at least a fortnight

and ask why my lips are drawn red.

I don’t remember it being such a cold night

when I last left my bed

and the hills, they now look barren

enticing winter’s dread.

This world is full of weeping, carrion

crows wave rings, waiting for our dead.

The oatmeal chest is empty

and I almost remember

the faeries smooth hand, tempting me

back to far off lands, a member

of something better, with berries guaranteed.