death of a faerie

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the ancient faerie, with her
golden wings coming off
the hinges,

flicks away the sheath of
rich-grey hair
that have fallen (in love) over
her strong, stooped shoulders.

she puts away the dust-
pan and awakens through
her rusted iron-ore wand-
hand (single-spaced, spelled,
sustained),

an apparition of her
youth, her dark-eyed
energy of yesteryears

— the pneuma that always finds its
return, inwards,
outwards,
back to its source —

a golden woman, a silver lifeline,
and the womb of death,

the midnight carriage moving
towards
an unflinching,
hundred-wrinkled,
time-bound
end.

© Anmol Arora

For With Real Toads’ Un-Fairy Tales
Image source (Willem De Kooning’s Woman II (1952))

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