Lady In The Meads

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My feet leap in the world of Faerie My body dances in my sacred grove. In my eyes, you see something wild – something you cannot tame and take back home to your castle to meet your king. But you will surely still try. My...
  I tore off my skin in the moonlight and became a seal, sleek and noisy. One day a man put his arms around me, and my arms and legs became tree limbs. It turned out I was the enchanted princess all along,...
because I can no longer feel my feet. Was it a trick of genetics or a magic potion that made my fingers into feathers or fins ready for a different kind of escapade? My body is slowly giving itself away from this universe. It...
I find it is much harder to sew now that one of my arms has become a giant white wing. It’s nonsense to assume, of course, a spell gone wrong, a stepmother’s curse, a swan nearly freed. I recall being swallowed in...

Simbelmynë

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Photography by Paul Barson Even here the glimmering simbelmynë grows in the ghostly pale green meads and haunted hollows far from the hallows somber in their ordered rows where our old bones the cold earth slowly swallows. Of certainty indeed no living person knows and...
A midwife—she reaches for the flower’s afterlife and dyes it with a puddle of St. Germain. We’re dealing in floral ghosts & flakes of paint curved over our fingertips, abalone crescents. I have been told to chant words of protection— cornstalk & eucharist. She says I’ll think...
©Kate Leiper

Selkie

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It’s not that I’m not comfortable in my own skin. It’s that I can’t ever be without it—it’s a harness in a handbag, holding me to the ocean with a hook and a thread. This is the life I wanted—a cottage, no Prince Charming but...
The realist masters have avoided the Appalachians and I have to assume that this is because fayeland is difficult to paint. What to do with the sounds of mushrooms unfolding through fallen hemlocks? How to ensure the advancement of each tiny...
Historic clothing created and modeled by Seamstress of Rohan. Photography by Helena Aguilar Mayans. Take a spoon, silver’s best, but any spoon Will do, so long as it is old. It should Be held in the left hand. Take it now, room To room...

Besom

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Photography by Courtney Brooke Twenty eight broomcorn bunches in the center, seventeen on the outside, jagged bristles bound, many years ago I would have just swept up Cheerios and glitter, dirt; brooms were for cleaning. Now Besom, you’re bound for riding. Somewhen, I will cut the...