Molly Knox
Fairy Ring
after Fairy Ring in ‘The Popular Rhymes of Scotland’, collected by Robert Chambers
“He wha tills the fairies’ green
Nae luck again shall hae :
And he wha spills the fairies’ ring
Betide him want and wae.
For weirdless days and weary nights
Are his till his deein’ day.
But he wha gaes by the fairy ring,
Nae dule nor pine shall see,
And he wha cleans the fairy ring
An easy death shall dee.”
you named me
the cold spill of a double arc-ed devil.
when I make living circles, I disco weirdless and weary.
cry with me
all bug-eyed and hungry. hear you like rabbit hears drum-rumble-hiss of steamroller.
louder than the ninth crack of bone.
I pick mushrooms in the wet weather. never liked to cook with them,
like you did. I was too angry.
I walk through my shallow grasslands, spinning in dew. old spoons reflect a full
moon, clean, unclean. hold my umbrella over me as I go.
you call this year dry. vanish
from the inside. call my air invisible and a barn owl
becomes waterproof. call my chalked moods your own.
Dad, I grew up
burning between meadows, forests, asphalt. when I come home
nitrogen always rises:
scrapes eyes but dances in a portal. in the end
maggots govern summer’s razor heat: keep the pubs open late,
ready with a hand and a toast.
when I leave, tired hawthorn churns itself. those trees leak milk in the wind,
go slow and forgive. go
underneath. creak out
an easy end.
no luck, no luck.
when a dead zone becomes dead,
call it so.