To my Grandmother

“I was once a child of fairies.

My kin were magical and sublime.

The world beheld us as perfection,

they stared with adoration.

I was once a child of magic.

My hands were driven by the whispers of the spirits,

by the laughter of the trees

and by the silence in between words.

I used to be the son of pace,

the daughter of rhythm.”

The fire danced to the words of my grandmother,

the wind carried her wisdom.

“I met the lord of water,”

she told me, “once.”

Funny, I always thought she was lying.

“Water doesn’t meet with humans.

But we’re faerie kin,

we’re creatures of legend,” she told me.

“Water will talk to you, child,

because water craves our kind, the magical kind.”

She left that night.

The air was light; my eyes were heavy.

Between whispers, and water, and fire, she left.

I saw her leave.

That child of fairies, of magic, slipped through my fingers.