Leap Day
by Adele Evershed
On the leapt over day the milky eye sees what it wants in the tilted mirror.
Smears of a bloody living
Lie on the crimpy mat
As she licks the yolk
From a tawny just laid egg.
Outside, in the milking fold,
Rimy-mouthed litanies
Mumbled on bad breath
Drain the white cow
Until it turns to dun.
‘Blame the pigeons or the hag-witch
Craving bread and cheese.’
This is a could be time
Of rough bowls of milk
And crumbles of bread
Strewn on a flagstone floor.
Roast the unplucked hen
Tell the cobblestones to air
An oath of family lies
A changeling child
Nursed as his own.
‘Shoe the elf with gold
So he’ll live to be a hundred.’
The widow melancholy
Longing next for
Some indigo gloves
Swims to the bony isle.
Her frozen fingers clutch
The blue slip milkweed
But her icy lips
No longer blow winkle kisses
To smudge the glass.
‘You will never crave
What is easy in the getting.’
On this hidden day Queen Mab –
Splendid in her pussy girdle
– Treads blue buds under foot
Beneath the lopsided moon.
A gnarly shepherd
Throws down his crook
To join her in the dance
Pirouetting like a loon
To make a perfect circle.
‘Let’s gather on the hills
Beside Dina’s seat and sing.’
As the splashy harp grows dim
And ploughmen bristle yawning
The fairy queen spinning hastily
Tips the glass once more.
On the day of David
Flinty evening blunders in
So widows and knights
With ashes in their mouth
And reeking of wild thyme
Pay the debt.
‘Speak ever softly as
Fay folk and love are dangerous.’
Y Tylwyth Teg (the Fairy Folk).
—
Adele Evershed is originally from Wales transplanted to Connecticut. She dabbles writing poetry often based on myths remembered from childhood
—
Our Reader said:
I like this poem because its dark tone reveals the fundamental fact that new years do not always bring happiness (including leap years).
