Atop the Vanity

Poem by Richard Magahiz

Father gave her a brooch of encapsulated manhattanite

that glimmered all night long, a warm pink glow.

Her daughter loves to call it the witch-light from fairyland,

And she isn't wrong. The land is under an ancient curse.

Now when the sun goes down, the world is dark and still

except when the Moon reveals her dirty face to her.

The spell to lift the curse has been lost sixty-six generations.

That land has sunken beneath a wall of water.

Those who would have cheered such a lifting

Have been scattered like reflective chaff.

Fairyland was built by others, it is not to touch.

Just one exception finding its way to her hand.