The long-life fairy drops in from beyond the horizon, in all the popsicle colours of the sunrise. From the Adulterer's Songbook she chooses two anthems: Longevity and Happiness and plays their notes, their different moods, upon her harp. Longevity: one clear descant stretching into the distance; Happiness a swarm-song of sounds in my chest. As though you had moved your head on the pillow, or had stood before me transformed by tragedy and lust. And the afterburn I feel, of sharp mouths munching through my hair.
She blesses us with many beautiful years. The words fall from her mouth like fish, like mackerel, dark and bright together. She trails a fairytale of woe in her fishnets. A magpie is caught, hanging upside down amongst the glitter. The harmonica, her true harp, releases its Once-Upon-A Time cadence of lament.
Each thing smells sweet and full of meaning: Your hip against the windowlight (it is Friday, it must be fellatio) There are no days of the week beginning with C I complain. And you tell me, complaining is to say you want the opposite of what you have. It seems a casually puzzling remark, but the long-life fairy snaps shut her Songbook and coughs up the word wife, like phlegm. I fold myself in two, like a paper heart and think I see her ghost flicker in the thundery dark, but maybe it was just the long-life fairy leaving, tossing her starry tiara our way, crumpling the air with her vibration.
The copyright of this post belongs to Claire Steele
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