Vanished

by Lisa Bradley

I rake and toss the leaves

leathern oak, blood-red maple, golden ash

seeking out that certain glister

as of a snail-trail scrawled on autumn canvas,

but my heart already grieves.

Last time the Folk snatched my child

they demanded ransom on a leaf

of witch hazel writ with that eerie silver ink.

Another time they left a trail of leaves

leading to my babe asleep upon

an aspen hill. This time I fear their fancy

is not so passing. Perhaps they’ll keep

my little one as pampered pet

or pupil to be schooled in spider-script

and cruelty. Or perhaps their message

is simply buried beneath these waves of

leathern oak, blood-red maple, golden ash.

Pleading it be so, I rake and toss the leaves,

but my heart already grieves.