I found the faerie at the bottom of the river basin,
stored away like a jewel in its box. I wonder if
I could freeze time & put him inside amber, to keep
him on my wrist forever. Or paint him in gold — become Midas.
Instead I hold him too long, and feel him peel away like ripe fruit
between my fingers; my good luck elf gone inside my palm,
now devoid of future, of diamonds, of promises. No spell
will bring him back. Inside my book of shadows, I discover Fey
is Germanic, meaning fated to die. But I’ll head to the river at night,
swallow back the water, teeth as a strainer, & hope for luck twice.
[Evelyn Deshane has appeared in Plenitude Magazine, The Rusty Toque, and is forthcoming in Tesseracts 19: Superhero Universe. Her chapbook, Mythology, was released in 2015 with The Steel Chisel. Evelyn (pron. Eve-a-lyn) received an MA from Trent University and currently studying for PhD at Waterloo University. Visit evedeshane.wordpress.com for more details.]