Daughter danced among the tchotchkes,
Giving the porcelain fairies names, noting
A fairy with a baby, madonna with dragonfly
Wings, another caressing her swelling belly.
Body sitting heavily at a window two-top
Wondered about fairy reproduction. Surely,
Parthenogenetic? This particular species
At least seemed to have no male members,
And no elderly godmother types neither,
Just many fair-skinned young women
With long legs and high breasts, dressed
In tattered drapery that somehow did not
Interfere with their shoulder-perched wings,
Whether of the butterfly or dragonfly style.
Outside, a chainsaw-carved wooden sign
Announced the Fairytale Cafe, today soaked
In the Canadian rain. But inside, while many
Of the aforementioned fairies perched
On mantels, shelves, and sills, no reference
To known wonder tales, famed or obscure,
Added to the gilded wood decor. The menu
Was pastries, soup, and sandwiches, none
Linked to fairy motifs. The owner/server/chef
Was a tall, solid, kindly woman of middle age
And Germanic accent. Mind consulted self,
Beginning to suspect this was an actual
Portal, here across the grey, wet street
From the dull motel in the nondescript
Neighborhood of small, crouching houses,
The kind of scene that sprouted banal adjectives
Like encircling rings of mushrooms, too
Perfectly circular not to suspect of purpose.
The kindly woman served daughter an extra
Sweet on a tiny plate imprinted with another
Of the local type of fairy. Perhaps she was
A witch? Perhaps the wonder tale should
Start with the promise of fairies bewitching
Handel and Gretel into the rococo cottage?
Perhaps an alien race resembled these
Simultaneous concatenations of flying
Insects, young mothers, and maidens?
Culture curled a wisp of tail the way a cloud
Will hang a line of mist like a single-file
Column of straggling angels across a cliff.
It was in the room. It was whispering
Something about how to haunt the beasts.
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